4- 


b- 
a 

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er- 
1m 
ch 

to 
-a- 
la- 

n- 

*V, 

ill 
en 
ie, 
th 

in 
re 
at 
vn 


. 
Irish  Humor. 

Charming  Irish  humor  Is  well  por- 
trayed in  "MR.  WILDBRIDGE  OF 
THE  BANK,"  by  Lynn  Doyle  [Stakes], 
who  knows  the  brogue  and  the  coun- 
try. Mr.  Doyle  has  used  a  pretty  col- 
leen to  cause  dismay  In  the  town  and 
to  stir  it  up  to  depths  unknown.  There 
are  smiles,  funny  memories,  laughs, 
and  the  blacksmith — Dennis  O'Flaher- 
ty — is  the  ringleader  of  prosperity. 

The  little  sleepy  town  of  Portna- 
muck  is  typical  of  the  conditions 
which  are  today  arousing  all  of  Ire- 
land to  active  thought  that  means 
deeds.  The  bank  manager  with  his 
translations  of  Horace;  his  cultivation 
of  the  blacksmith,  and  his  winning  of 
the  pretty  girl  and  saving  of  her  father 
will  make  a  dull  evening  too  short  for 
the  whole  story. 


MR.  WILDRJDGE  OF 
THE  BANK 


MR.  WILDRIDGE 
OF  THE  BANK 


BY 


LYNN  DOYLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "BALLYGUIXION" 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COM  PANT 


All  rights  reserved 


«  TO 

THREE  LITTLE  BOYS 

HARRY,  NEIL,  AND 

ALAN 


2061620 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF 
THE  BANK 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  evening  sederunt  at  Big  Michael  Branne^ 
gan's  Family  Hotel  was  in  full  swing.  More 
than  half  of  the  usual  cronies  were  assembled, 
and  well  into  the  middle  of  their  first  drinks.  The 
guests  in  the  hotel  had  been  duly  invited  to  join  the 
party  and  had  just  sampled  the  "  little  drop  of  some- 
thing "  which,  according  to  Michael's  hospitable  cus- 
tom, was  always  "  stood  "  them  at  the  expense  of  the 
house.  It  was  an  axiom  with  Michael  that  if  you  once 
got  a  man  started  to  drink  he  would  generally  go  on 
himself. 

On  this  occasion  the  only  two  guests  had  availed 
themselves  of  the  landlord's  invitation,  a  middle-aged, 
prosperous-looking  English  commercial  traveler,  and 
a  small  dark  man,  who  on  account  of  certain  peculiari- 
ties of  dress  and  speech  and  an  extremely  sallow  com- 
plexion had  promptly  been  noted  down  as  a  dirty  for- 
eigner. 

The  commercial  man  was  quite  at  home,  and  had 
possession  of  the  house. 

"  I  agree  with  every  word  that  has  been  uttered, 
gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  every  word,  especially  with  the 
remarks  of  my  friend  Mr.  Finnegan."  He  had  hopes 
of  a  good  order  from  Mr.  Finnegan  in  the  morning. 


2  MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  But  what  I  want  to  know  is :  Why  isn't  something 
being  done?  You  ain't  getting  forarder,  it  seems  to 
me.  When  I  came  here  on  my  first  journey  eight  years 
ago  I  heard  the  same  old  story.  The  town  of  Port- 
namuck  wasn't  getting  on.  Dead  standstill.  Summer 
visitors  just  about  the  same  —  rather  fewer  than  they 
used  to  be  —  no  sign  of  improvement.  Well,  here  we 
are ;  eight  years  gone ;  no  more  visitors  than  there  used 
to  be.  Eight  years  ago  I  booked  an  order  from  my 
friend  Mr.  Finnegan,  among  other  things,  of  three 
dozen  colored  parasols.  Last  year  it  was  only  two 
dozen  and  a  half.  And  I  venture  to  say  it  will  bother 
me  to  repeat  the  order  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that,  Mr.  Dickenson,"  answered  Mr. 
Finnegan.  "  You  have  a  way  with  you,  sir,  you  have 
a  way  with  you ;  but  it  is  a  matter  of  satisfaction,  and, 
if  I  may  so  express  myself,  congratulation,  that  the 
business  of  D.  Finnegan  and  Co.  continues  to  maintain 
itself  at  a  considerable  level  of  prosperity.  I  think,  sir, 
owing  to  improved  methods  of  business,  and  the  stead- 
ily enhancing  reputation  of  my  emporium,  I  shall  be 
successful  in  disposing  of  as  many  summer  parasols 
as  ever. 

"  But  that,  sir,  is  because  I  am  yearly  continuing  to 
secure  a  larger  share  of  the  business  of  this  town.  The 
volume,  the  volume  of  business,  if  I  may  so  put  it,  is 
not  an  increasing  quantity.  The  actual  number  of  our 
summer  visitors  is,  I  agree  with  you,  in  the  descending 
scale." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  commercial  gentleman, 
"  what  I  want  to  know  is,  what's  the  reason  of  it  ?  " 

"  No  summers,"  said  a  tall,  melancholy-faced  man, 
seated  close  to  the  fire.  "  What'd  bring  people  to  the 
seaside  this  last  eight  years?  Rain,  rain,  all  the  time. 
There  wasn't  three  days'  sunshine  in  succession  all  last 
season.  And  here  we're  in  the  end  of  May  again,  and 
shivering  over  a  fire.  It's  a  most  cursed  climate,  this, 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK  3 

a  most  cursed  climate.     I  don't  know  what  people  would 

buy  sunshades  for  in  the  country  if  it  wasn't  for  show. 
j " 

"Ach,  sure  they're  useful  for  coortin'  behind,  Mr. 
McCarrison,"  said  a  big,  grimy  man,  sitting  at  a  table 
with  a  tankard  of  stout  before  him.  "  If  you'd  only  buy 
a  parasol  for  yourself  this  summer  —  a  good,  bright 
red  one,  that  would  put  a  bit  of  color  in  your  face 
when  the  sun  shone  through  it  —  an'  get  a  tight  slip 
av  a  girl  in  behind  it,  you'd  mebbe  not  take  such  a  mel- 
ancholy view  of  things.  We're  doin'  rightly.  There's 
more  drivin'  an'  coachin'  by  half  than  there  was  eight 
years  ago.  I  shoed  more  horses  last  July  than  iver  I 
used  to  do  all  summer." 

"  That's  what's  wrong,  that's  what's  wrong,"  said 
Mr.  Sharpe,  a  little  stout  man,  who  had  so  far  sat  with- 
out speaking,  but  taking  in  the  whole  room  with  his 
restless  small  eyes,  and  emitting  a  rapid  succession  of 
distinct  puffs  of  smoke,  very  much  in  the  way  in  which 
he  spoke  his  words.  "  Too  much  driving.  Curse  of 
the  place.  Ten  miles  to  a  railway.  Ridiculous. 
Who'll  drive  ten  miles  nowadays?  Nobody,  nobody, 
nobody.  Fewer  people  coming  every  year.  Less  busi- 
ness. Less  money.  Fm  doing  less.  Finnegan's  do- 
ing less.  Improved  methods  of  business.  Bosh.  No 
good.  I've  not  improved.  No  need.  Same  old  style. 
Courtesy  and  promptness.  If  I  haven't  what  you  want, 
get  you  it.  Doing  less  all  the  same.  Railway  here, 
and  I'll  do  more.  More  every  year." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  commercial  man,  "  why  don't 
you  have  a  railway?  If  this  was  an  English  town  we'd 
have  a  railway  here  within  twelve  months.  You've  got 
one  within  ten  miles  as  it  is.  Why  don't  you  approach 
the  Company  to  make  an  extension?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  had  any  dealings  with  the 
Ulidia  Railway  Company,"  said  the  melancholy-looking 
man.  "  If  you  had  you  wouldn't  be  quite  so  sanguine. 


4  MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

In  my  opinion  they're  the  most  rotton,  stick-in-the-mud 
concern  in  the  Three  Kingdoms." 

"  Show  them  that  it's  worth  their  while  to  come. 
Invite  down  the  directors.  Take  them  round  the  dis- 
trict. Why,  you've  got  the  prettiest  bit  of  coast  here 
in  all  Ireland  —  or  England  either.  Blackpool's  not 
half  as  taking,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  amusements.  Show 
them  the  figures  of  two  or  three  leading  English  wa- 
tering-places. Let  them  see  it's  worth  their  while  to 
run  in  here,  and  they'll  come;  you  see  if  they  don't. 
What  you  people  in  this  country  want  is  enterprise. 
No  go  in  you.  Content  with  the  old  rut." 

"  What  we  want  in  this  country,"  said  the  melan- 
choly-faced man,  "  is  cash.  No  railway  would  run 
here  without  a  guarantee  of  a  certain  return  on  the 
capital  expended.  And  where  would  you  get  a  guar- 
antee in  this  poverty-stricken  hole?  There's  not  half 
a  dozen  people  in  the  place  can  do  more  than  make  ends 
meet,  and  they  take  good  care  to  hold  on  to  anything 
they've  got." 

"  Ye  needn't  be  lookin'  so  bitther  at  me,  Mr.  McCar- 
rison,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  for  the  divil  a  very  much 
is  to  be  made  out  of  horseshoes." 

"  Well,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Mr.  Finne- 
gan,  "  though  I  have  perhaps  amassed  a  decent  compe- 
tence, if  I  may  so  describe  the  result  of  a  lifetime  of 
unremitting  industry  and  enlightened  business  methods, 
I  could  not  feel  it  consistent  with  my  duty  to  a  numer- 
ous family  to  offer  more  than  a  very  modest  contribu- 
tion to  a  project,  the  success  of  which  —  I  speak  un- 
der correction  —  is  attended  with  a  great  deal  of  un- 
certainty, dependent  as  it  would  be  on  the  receipts  of  a 
short  summer  season,  and  that  in  a  climate  which,  as  my 
friend  Mr.  McCarrison  has  so  ably  and  intelligently 
pointed  out,  is  subject  to  so  many  fluctuations. 

"If  the  project  of  a  woolen  manufactory,  which  I 
have  long  advocated,  and  which  in  a  sheep-rearing  dis- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK  5 

trict  like  ours  has  every  prospect  of  complete,  and,  I 
venture  to  say,  brilliant  success,  had  been  taken  up  by 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  and  the  surrounding  neigh- 
borhood, it  would  have  formed  a  valuable  adjunct  to  our 
resources,  and  furnished  an,  if  I  may  put  it  so  strongly, 
irresistible  argument  to  the  promoters  of  the  long- 
desired  extension  of  the  Ulidia  railway  into  our 
midst." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  said  the  blacksmith  loudly.  "  Isn't  it 
a  pity,  mister,"  addressing  the  commercial  traveler, 
"  for  a  man  with  a  gift  of  the  gab  like  that  to  be  wasted 
on  the  dhrapery  thrade.  An'  by  the  time  he  has  the 
second  glass  down  he  can  speak  as  long  again.  If  he 
was  only  as  free  with  his  pocket  as  he  is  with  his  tongue 
we'd  have  woolen  manufactories  dotted  all  round  the 
district." 

"  He  has  you  there,  Finnegan,"  chuckled  the  little 
stout  man.  "  Too  much  talk.  All  talk.  Talked  two 
meetings  out  yourself.  No  talk  with  me.  My  money 
talks.  Offered  to  take  up  five  hundred  pounds'  worth  of 
shares  myself.  No  more.  My  share.  Do  it  to-mor- 
row if  the  scheme  goes  on." 

"  It's  a  capital  notion,"  said  the  commercial  man ; 
"gad,  capital.  You  have  a  fine  sheep  district,  gentle- 
men, to  provide  the  raw  material,  and  any  amount  of 
water-power.  I  don't  know  a  better  situation  for  a 
woolen  manufactory  in  the  British  Isles.  If  we  had  the 
same  facilities  in  the  North  of  England,  we'd  be  paying 
twenty  per  cent,  the  first  year.  A  little  capital  and  the 
thing's  done.  Why,  I'd  take  shares  myself.  You  say 
you've  had  some  meetings  already.  What's  the  matter 
with  getting  a  company  formed?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter,"  said  the  landlord, 
puffing  slowly  and  meditatively  at  his  pipe.  It  was 
Michael's  nightly  practice  to  remain  passive  in  his  great 
leather  arm-chair,  leaning  forward  on  the  arms  like  a 
large  and  very  fat  Sphynx,  slowly  ruminating  on  the 


6  MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

various  opinions  advanced ;  and  then  to  deliver  himself 
heavily  to  the  confusion  of  the  speakers. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter,  Mr.  Dickenson,"  said 
Michael.  "  The  people  of  Portnamuck  is  fit  for  noth- 
ing else  but  talkin'.  An*  talkin',  as  far  as  I  have  ever 
seen,  is  very  little  good  in  this  world." 

"  It  makes  people  dhry,  Michael,"  said  the  black- 
smith, "  an'  that's  still  so  much  gained." 

"  If  ye  were  to  listen  to  the  people  of  this  town  talk- 
ing," went  on  Michael  without  heeding  the  interruption, 
"  ye  would  think  it  was  the  wisest  place  in  the  world. 
There  has  been  men  —  some  of  them  is  in  this  room  — 
talking  these  ten  years  about  the  railway,  wiser  than 
them  that  is  directors  of  the  Company.  The  manufac- 
turing of  wool  has  been  discussed  and  explained  in  this 
town  and  neighborhood  till  the  very  sheep,  if  they  had 
hands  instead  of  hooves,  could  weave  woolen  cloth  them- 
selves. But  has  anything  been  done?"  said  Michael, 
leaning  forward  stertorously  and  tapping  his  pipe  on 
the  bar  of  the  grate.  "  D n  all !  " 

He  looked  round  in  gloomy  challenge.  But  no  one 
had  the  temerity  to  expose  himself. 

The  influence  of  Michael  in  his  native  town  had  some- 
thing of  the  mysterious  in  it.  Whether  it  sprang  from 
the  elephantine  bulk  of  his  person  and  his  ponderous 
delivery,  or  from  his  known  long-headedness,  or  —  and 
this  was  likeliest  —  from  the  fact  that  no  such  whisky 
as  Michael  kept  was  to  be  had  elsewhere  in  the  town, 
among  the  ranks  of  his  clientele  it  was  supreme  and 
unquestioned.  No  shadow  of  dispute  ever  clouded  the 
serenity  of  Michael's  bar-parlor.  A  singular  freedom 
of  expression  characterized  the  debates  that  took  place 
there  nightly.  Taunts  and  personal  criticisms  that 
rankled  even  into  the  second  generation  were  endured 
with  at  least  outward  calm.  Within  the  precincts  of 
Michael's  parliament  no  one  dared  take  offense.  A  few 
fiery  spirits  in  the  early  days  had  attempted  to  question 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK  7 

his  title  to  autocracy,  and  fled  murmuring  after  chas- 
tisement. But  a  week  or  two  in  outer  darkness  and  in- 
ferior whisky  had  brought  them  to  their  senses,  and 
thereafter  Michael's  sway  reigned  undisputed. 

And  so  on  the  present  occasion  his  glance  around 
sprang  merely  from  a  desire  to  heighten  on  his  palate 
the  sweet  taste  of  authority,  not  from  any  fear  of  re- 
volt. 

"  D n  all,"  continued  Michael.  "  And  d n  all 

ever  will  be  done  by  the  parcel  of  blethers  and  sluggards 
that  dream  in  their  time  in  this  locality.  Some  day  a 
man  of  pluck  and  enterprise'll  come  among  us,  an' 
things'll  begin  to  move.  We'll  have  a  railway  then,  an' 
a  manufactory ;  but  it'll  do  no  good  to  anybody  in  this 
town.  They'll  be  sittin'  in  their  back  parlors  scandal- 
izing their  neighbors,  an'  pickin'  holes  in  them  that's 
trying  to  do  something  for  the  public  good,  while 
strangers  an'  outsiders  is  making  money  they  should  be 
makin'." 

The  uneasy  pause  that  had  fallen  on  the  assembly  was 
broken  by  the  irrepressible  Mr.  Dickenson. 

"  Surely  there  must  be  somebody  in  the  district,  Mr. 
Brannegan,"  said  he,  "  to  lead  the  way  in  public  enter- 
prise. What  about  the  local  landholders,  for  in- 
stance ?  " 

"  There's  only  one  landholder  in  these  parts,"  said 
Michael,  "  an'  anybody  that  follows  his  lead'll  find  him- 
self in  the  Bankruptcy  Court.  An'  he'll  have  to  start 
after  him  pretty  sharp  if  he  wants  to  catch  up  with  him 
before  the  doors  of  the  same  place  close  behind  his 
heels." 

"You're  forgetting  old  Mr.  Normanby,  Michael," 
said  Mr.  Finnegan,  "  as  open-handed  and  public-spir- 
ited a  man  as  our  country  boasts  of  in  all  its  length  and 
breadth ;  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  a  gentleman  of  the  first 
water." 

"  Oh,    a   gentleman,    right    enough,"    said   Michael. 


8  MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 


.. 


But  I  thought  we  were  talking  of  landholders.  An* 
poor  ould  Mr.  Normanby's  acres  is  easy  counted.  If 
he'd  had  less  public  spirit  I'm  thinkin'  he'd  have  more 
land.  An  honorable,  simple-hearted  old  fellow  that  has 
let  the  people  of  this  neighborhood  put  their  fingers 
that  far  into  his  eyes  that  he  hasn't  enough  money  left 
to  buy  himself  spectacles." 

"  An  old  fool,"  broke  in  the  little  fat  man  abruptly. 
"  Decent,  well-meaning  old  fool ;  but  a  fool  all  the  same. 
And  you  know  it,  Michael;  nobody  better.  Public 
spirit.  Public  nonsense.  Public  waste  of  money. 
Fruit-growing  climate  like  this  —  sea-coast.  Nobody 
but  a  fool  would  start  such  a  notion.  Broke  half  the 
country.  Iodine  out  of  sea-weed.  Bosh.  Bosh. 
Bosh !  Mere  waste  of  money.  Not  as  much  iodine  in 
all  the  sea-weed  on  this  coast  as  would  paint  a  chilblain. 
Plenty  working  at  it  already,  anyhow.  Start  a  sensible 
commercial  undertaking,  and  I'm  willing  to  support  it. 
Five  hundred  paid-up  pound  shares  any  time  you  like. 
But  I'll  not  start  it.  Business  to  mind.  And  no  cas- 
tles in  the  air;  no  wild-cat  nonsense.  Decent  old  gen- 
tleman, Mr.  Normanby,  but  d d  old  idiot  all  the 

same.  Here,  Michael,  get  me  a  ten-glass  bottle  of 
whisky.  Got  a  cold.  Going  home  to  bed." 

The  commercial  man,  scenting  some  entertaining  gos- 
sip, with  difficulty  restrained  his  curiosity  during  the 
lengthy  process  of  extricating  Michael  from  his  chair, 
and  burst  into  inquiry  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed. 

But  he  was  embarrassed  with  the  tide  of  anecdote  that 
poured  in  on  him.  The  blacksmith,  Finnegan,  McCar- 
rison  the  melancholy  seedsman,  and  half  a  dozen  others 
broke  into  reminiscence,  of  which  the  commercial  man, 
wanting  the  key  of  local  knowledge,  could  make  out 
little  except  that  it  was  uniformly  good-natured.  The 
very  name  Mr.  Normanby  seemed  to  diffuse  a  spirit  of 
human  kindness.  Amid  the  haze  of  words  the  commer- 
cial man  was  able  to  discern  dimly  the  picture  of  a  ven- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK  9 

erable  old  clergyman  of  gentle  birth,  sanguine,  impul- 
sive, simple-minded,  full  of  generous  enthusiasms. 
Hints  there  were  of  undertakings  begun  for  the  public 
profit,  and  ending  in  his  own  personal  loss,  of  decayed 
fortunes  apparent  but  not  acknowledged,  and  infelici- 
tous attempts  to  mend  them.  But  on  all  sides  nothing 
but  kindliness  and  good-will  towards  the  old  man,  and 
free  recognition  of  a  genuine  desire  to  benefit  the  com- 
munity, frustrated  by  narrowed  and  narrowing  means. 
"  It's  another  of  the  misfortunes  of  this  miserable 
hole,"  summed  up  the  seedsman,  "  that  in  the  only  quar- 
ter there  is  a  bit  of  decency  and  public  spirit  about  it 
there  should  be  poverty  as  well." 


CHAPTER  II 

PARTLY  with  a  view  to  secure  detailed  informa- 
tion and  partly  from  diplomacy  the  traveler  left 
the  bar-parlor  early  with  Mr.  Finnegan.  But 
he  found  Mr.  Finnegan  principally  inclined  to  talk 
about  himself,  and  even  more  oratorical  and  deprecating 
than  before. 

"  You  will  doubtless  have  observed,  Mr.  Dickenson," 
remarked  the  draper,  "  among  the  more  respectable 
members  of  what  I  may,  I  think,  call  the  upper  middle 
class,  assembled  in  our  worthy  friend  Mr.  Brannegan's 
parlor,  a  certain  disposition  towards  wordiness  and,  if 
if  I  may  so  call  it,  circumlocution.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  conversation  and,  between  ourselves,  very  little 
accomplishment.  A  great  many  of  our  very  good 
friends  are  all  unanimous  in  agreeing  together  that 
something  should  be  done  for  the  town ;  but  no  one 
seems  to  think  it  necessary,  or,  as  I  would  put  it,  vital, 
to  do  something  himself. 

"  Now  I,  Mr.  Dickenson,"  said  Finnegan,  smiting 
himself  lightly  on  the  chest  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers, 
"  am  a  man  of  action.  I  was  very  instrumental,  I  think 
I  might  say,  in  calling  together  the  first  meeting  in  sup- 
port of  our  projected  woolen  manufactory,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  unworthy  though  I  may  be,  I  presided  in 
the  chair.  Well,  sir,  I  addressed  the  people  of  this  town 
at  length  for  over  fifty  minutes  —  my  wife  says  fifty- 
five  —  I  pointed  out  the  necessity  for  making  an  effort 
on  their  own  behalf,  for  doing  something,  for  taking  ac- 
tion ;  and  do  you  know,  sir,  I  might  as  well  have  left  it 
alone.  At  the  next  meeting  the  result  was  very  much 

the  same.     I  spoke  again,  though,  not  being  in  the 

10 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         11 

chair,  for  a  shorter  time.  I  showed  them  how  impor- 
tant it  was  that  every  man  should  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  support  the  undertaking.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it,  sir,  I  was  assailed  with  sarcasm,  and  even  what 
I  might  venture  to  call  contumely,  because  I  showed  my- 
self disinclined  to  subscribe  for  any  considerable  num- 
ber of  shares  myself. 

*'  Now  you  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  understand,  Mr. 
Dickenson,  that  in  a  business  like  mine,  requiring  as  it 
does  a  great  deal  of  capital,  especially  at  the  opening  of 
what  I  may  call  by  a  figure  of  speech  our  harvest  season, 
the  summer-time,  it  is  all-important  —  But  here  we  are. 
Won't  you  come  in,  Mr.  Dickenson.  I  should  be  able 
to  give  you  a  little  supper,  if  my  wife,  Mrs.  Finnegan, 
isn't  gone  to  bed  yet;  though  perhaps  you  may  prefer 
the  more  appetizing  delicacies  of  Mr.  Brannegan's  cui- 
sine   " 

The  commercial  man  was  very  glad  to  avail  himself 
of  the  excuse  offered  him,  and  said  a  hasty  good  night. 

A  few  yards  up  the  street  he  met  the  blacksmith  mak- 
ing his  way  home  in  a  mellow  and  good-humored  state 
that  quite  precluded  any  chance  of  his  getting  past. 

"  Come  down  the  street  a  bit  with  me,  Mr.  What- 
d'ye-call-ye.  Only  don't  walk  too  close  to  me ;  for  I've 
sometimes  a  bit  of  a  roll  in  my  walk  when  I'm  on  my 
road  home  from  Michael's  of  a  night,  and  I  have  a  very 
heavy  foot  on  corns.  I  seen  ye  talking  to  ould  Finne- 
gan there  —  or  listenin'  to  him,  I  suppose.  He's  a 
man  wouldn't  let  a  body  get  in  a  word  edgeways.  A 
d d  ould  pompous  ould  blether.  Him  an'  his  meth- 
ods of  business.  He'd  deave  you  about  his  business. 
You'd  think  he  was  a  millionaire,  an'  him  with  a  tup- 
penny-ha'penny dhraper's  shop. 

"  The  fact  of  the  matter  is,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
coming  to  anchor  against  the  parapet  of  a  bridge  that 
spanned  the  little  river  running  through  the  town,  "  the 
people  here  is  good  for  talkin',  an'  for  mighty  little  else. 


12         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

An*  that  ould  yellow-faced  undhertaker  of  a  man  that 
ye've  just  parted  with  is  the  top-card  of  the  lot  as  far 
as  pure  tongue-waggin'  an'  doin'  nothin'  goes." 

"  There's  not  much  chance  then,  I  take  it,  of  either 
the  railway  or  the  mill,"  said  Mr.  Dickenson. 

'*  Short  of  some  big  fellow  takin'  it  up  an'  puttin'  a 
lot  of  money  into  it,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  there'll  be 
nothin'  of  a  new  venture  ever  do  any  good  in  Portna- 
muck.  The  people  here  are  as  jealous  of  each  other  as 
girls  at  a  boardin'-school.  They  wouldn't  venture  a 
penny  on  an  undhertakin'  of  any  kind  that  had  a  risk  in 
it.  It's  not  that  they're  mean,  mind  ye,  for  they're 
hearty  enough,  them  that  hasn't  too  much  —  the  well- 
to-do  ones  is  heart-greedy  —  but  everybody  hates  the 
thought  of  the  neighbors  gettin'  the  laugh  on  him  if  he 
lost  his  money,  an'  so  nobody'll  face  at  all.  But  if  some 
man  with  a  bit  of  capital  come  forward,  an'  the  thing 
looked  like  bein'  a  success,  they'd  be  tumblin'  over  one 
another  to  get  in.  For  if  one  man  of  themselves  put  in 
a  bit  of  capital,  an'  made  a  good  bit,  the  rest  av  them 
would  blow  their  brains  out  with  fair  vexation." 

"  Well,  what  about  our  friend  Mr.  Normanby,  that 
they  were  all  talking  about,"  said  Mr.  Dickenson. 
"  Didn't  he  give  you  all  a  lead  more  than  once?  " 

"  The  divil  a  word  have  I  to  say  again  ould  Mr.  Nor- 
manby," said  the  blacksmith,  "  for  there's  not  many 
like  him  walkin'  about ;  but  there's  two  bad  points  about 
him  for  a  job  like  this.  In  the  first  place  he  hasn't  got 
the  money,  an'  in  the  second  he's  that  soft-hearted  an' 
honorable  an'  easy  gulled  that  he  would  ruin  any  un- 
dhertakin' he  ever  meddled  with.  When  he  started  the 
fruit-growin'  notion  half  the  counthry-side  went  to  him 
complainin'  that  they  hadn't  money  to  buy  trees,  and 
when  he  had  near  broke  himself  backin'  all  the  lazy  ruffi- 
ans in  the  Bank,  the  rest  of  the  people  wouldn't  join  in 
because  the  other  fellows  was  gettin'  an  advantage  over 
them.  An'  as  for  the  trees  that  was  planted,  I  believe 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          13 

they  must  ha'  been  planted  upside  down,  or  else  the  cli- 
mate here  was  badly  again  them,  for  sorrow  the  apple, 
pear,  damson,  or  plum  ever  shaped  on- them.  The  peo- 
ple lost  confidence  in  Mr.  Normanby  afther  that,  an' 
ripped  the  whole  trees  out  of  the  ground,  an'  sowed 
corn." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  they  surely  couldn't  blame  Mr. 
Normanby  for  the  failure  of  the  fruit,"  said  the  com- 
mercial man. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing  they  blamed  him  for  bein'  the 
cause  of  a  whole  lot  of  fairy  thorns  bein'  cut  down,  an' 
bringin'  bad  luck  on  the  fruit  trees." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  anybody  believes 
in  fairies  nowadays,"  cried  the  traveler. 

"  I  wouldn't  altogether  like  to  say,"  answered  the 
blacksmith,  looking  behind  him  cautiously.  "  But  that 
was  the  report  in  the  counthry,  anyway." 

"  Well,  listen  to  me  for  a  minute,  my  friend,"  said  the 
traveler ;  "  I've  listened  to  you  pretty  patiently,  you 
know.  When  I  heard  you  folk  talking  to-night  in  Mr. 
Brannegan's  bar-parlor,  talking  good  common  sense 
about  developing  the  tourist  trade  of  this  district,  and 
running  in  a  railway,  and  starting  a  woolen-mill,  I 
thought  I'd  been  misjudging  you  all  these  eight  years, 
and  that  maybe  you  weren't  the  blithering,  easygoing, 
do-nothing  folk  I'd  been  taking  you  for.  But  it  seems 
to  me  my  first  impression  was  correct.  It  wasn't  your 
silly  blarneying  altogether,  for  we  talk  a  bit  in  England 
too;  nor  every  man's  jealousy  of  his  neighbor's  doing 
well  —  we're  not  all  brothers  across  the  Channel  either 
—  but,  damme,  when  it  comes  to  letting  fairies  inter- 
fere with  your  business,  I  think  it's  about  the  limit.  I 
had  a  notion  of  putting  a  bit  of  brass  into  your  woolen- 
mill  if  it  ever  was  started,  for  there  should  be  something 
to  be  made  out  of  a  well-managed  concern  of  the  kind ; 
but  when  it  comes  to  mixing  up  fairies  in  it,  well,  I  say 
good-by.  Good  gad !  "  said  the  commercial  man,  strid- 


14         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

ing  off  in  disgust,  "  fairies  —  fairies  in  the  twentieth 
centur y !  " 

The  blacksmith  pushed  himself  off  the  wall  and 
lurched  slowly  down  the  street,  talking  to  himself. 

"  These  Englishmen,"  said  he,  "  is  a  queer  kind  of 
people.  They  believe  in  nothin'  but  themselves.  Aye. 
Well,  it's  a  way  of  thinkin'  that  gets  men  along  in  the 
world ;  but  it  leaves  them  mighty  poor  company." 

When  the  commercial  man  entered  the  coffee-room  of 
the  hotel  on  his  return  he  found  it  empty  save  for  old 
Terry,  the  combined  waiter  and  boots  of  the  establish- 
ment. The  old  man  was  holding  a  tray  on  which  lay 
a  receipted  bill,  and  some  silver  and  copper. 

"  Hallo,  Terry,"  said  the  traveler  in  astonishment, 
"  who's  leaving  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?  " 

"  Nobody  at  ahl,  your  honor,"  answered  Terry,  who 
hailed  from  farther  south.  "  It's  only  that  unfortu- 
nate wee  divil  av  a  Jew  man " 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  a  Jew,  Terry,"  said  Dickenson. 
"  He's  like  a  Frenchman,  or  maybe  a  Spaniard." 

"  Well,  he's  some  kind  av  a  foreigner,  anyway,"  said 
Terry,  "  an'  moighty  little  I  thought  av  him  at  that. 
A  spyin',  nosin',  inquisitive  crather.  Wanted  the 
breed,  seed,  an'  genealogy  av  iverybody  in  the  town  an' 
counthry ;  who  they  were,  an'  what  they  did  for  a  livin', 
an'  had  they  friends  abroad,  an'  the  names  av  thim,  and 
whin  they  lift  the  counthry.  Ye  never  heard  such  a 
cross-examination  in  your  born  days.  He  nearly 
deaved  me  about  an  uncle  av  the  boss's  that  sailed  for 
Australia,  an'  niver  was  heard  av  again,  an'  a  brother 
av  ould  Mr.  Normanby's  that  went  to  Amerikay  a  gen- 
eration ago,  an'  was  supposed  to  be  killed  there. 

"  But  I'm  tellin'  ye,  sir,  he  didn't  get  a  dale  out  av 
me ;  for  I'm  thinkin'  the  divil  a  very  much  I'm  likely  to 
get  out  av  him.  A  hungry  wee  snipe,  that's  goin'  off  in 
the  mornin'  without  his  breakfast.  Nivir  takes  break- 
fast, he  says.  An'  troth,  I  don't  wondher  at  it ;  for  he 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          15 

ate  as  much  for  his  supper  as  would  do  the  fat  woman  at 
a  show.  Savin'  a  meal,  I  suppose.  An'  so  it  should. 
Nothin'  short  av  a  boa-constrictor  would  need  another 
bite  for  twenty-four  hours.  Here  he  is,  now.  Watch 
him,  Mr.  Dickenson,  what  he'll  give  me.  I  took  a  shil- 
lin'  av  the  change  in  coppers ;  for  if  it  had  been  all  in 
silver  the  divil  a  fluke  would  I  get  off  him.  Molly  at  the 
bar  was  for  me  thryin'  him  with  two  sixpences;  but  I 
daren't  risk  it.  Coppers  is  the  only  chance,  an'  bedam- 
but  I'm  not  too  sure  av  thim  even." 

Terry's  prognostications  turned  out  only  too  cor- 
rect. The  little  foreigner  gathered  up  his  bill,  and  the 
uttermost  penny  of  his  change,  lifted  a  rather  shiny  hat 
in  courteous  good-night  to  the  commercial  man,  and 
mounted  the  stairs  unabashed,  pursued  by  the  earnest 
prayers  of  Mr.  Terence  Flanagan. 

"  Well,  may  the  divil  scorch  him  till  his  backbone  is 
no  juicier  than  a  red-herrin's,"  said  Terry  fervently. 
"  Him  an'  his  hat-liftin',  an'  his  politeness.  Manners  is 
chape  or  there'd  be  little  av  thim  with  the  little  weasel. 
There  he  is  away  up  the  stairs  with  as  much  provisions 
in  him  this  night  for  a  shillin'  as  would  take  a  camel 
across  the  desert  av  Sahara,  an'  he  hadn't  the  common 
dacency  to  give  the  waiter  tuppence." 

"  He's  a  mean  little  dog,  Terry,"  agreed  the  traveler 
heartily,  "  and  deserves  to  be  kicked  out  of  the  coun- 
try." " 

But  if  Mr.  Dickenson  had  only  known  there  had 
passed  before  his  eyes  the  fairy  who  was  to  bring  pros- 
perity to  the  town  of  Portnamuck ! 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.  DENIS  O'FLAHERTY,  the  blacksmith, 
was  leaning  against  the  door  of  his  forge  one 
morning  about  three  months  later,  enjoying 
a  chat  with  Phil  Moran,  Mr.  Brannegan's  ostler,  when 
the  cashier  of  the  Downshire  Bank  passed  up  the  street 
on  his  way  to  business. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  O'Flaherty,"  called  the  cashier,  "  I'm 
bringin'  that  fox-terrier  pup  down  to  you  this  after- 
noon to  have  its  tail  cropped." 

"  Right  you  are,  Mr.  Jackson,"  answered  the  black- 
smith ;  "  it's  time  it  was  done  long  ago.  When'll  ye  be 
down?" 

"  About  a  quarter  to  four,"  called  back  the  cashier. 
"  Sorry  I  can't  stop  for  a  crack.  I'm  late  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Faith,  an'  he  is  late,  sure  enough,"  said  the  black- 
smith, consulting  a  large  silver  watch.  "  It's  fourteen 
minutes  to  ten  now." 

"  A  great  job  these  Bank  fellows  has,  goin'  in  at  ten 
o'clock  and  out  at  four,"  said  Phil  Moran.  "  A  gentle- 
man's life  of  it.  It's  not  gettin'  up  five  o'clock  in  the 
mornin',  to  clean  horses,  an'  workin'  till  dark  night  like 
some  of  us,  an'  very  little  for  it." 

"  Maybe  they  don't  get  so  much  themselves,"  said  the 
blacksmith. 

"  Aw  them  fellows  gets  good  pay,  I  hear,"  said  Mo- 
ran. 

"  Not  so  much  as  ye'd  think,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  Any  respectable  job  like  that,  that  gives  people  a 
chance  of  lookin'  down  on  their  fellow-creatures,  is  nivir 

16 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         17 

too  well  paid.  All  of  what  ye  call  the  professions  is  the 
same.  Clergymen  now  is  greatly  looked  up  to ;  but  sure 
they're  most  of  them  as  poor  as  crows.  It's  not  so  bad 
with  our  own  clergy,  for  they  have  nobody  to  keep  but 
themselves;  but  if  it  wasn't  that  Providence  ginerally 
sets  their  affections  in  a  quarther  where  there's  money, 
I  don't  know  how  half  of  the  Protestant  clergy  could 
rear  a  family  at  all.  Then  when  you  get  to  the  Army 
it's  worse  still.  Them  officer  fellows,  for  all  they  still 
look  as  neat  as  if  they  were  turned  out  of  a  bandbox, 
barely  gets  as  much  out  of  the  Government  as  would  pay. 
for  polish  for  their  boots.  Ye  can't  expect  to  have  the 
right  to  be  as  upsettin'  as  an  Army  officer  an'  get  good 
pay  as  well." 

"  The  doctors  and  the  lawyers  makes  well  by  it,"  said 
Moran. 

"  Not  so  bad  maybe  as  the  others,"  agreed  the  black- 
smith. "  But  a  doctor  earns  all  he  gets,  with  his  every 
night's  sleep  at  the  mercy  of  any  old  woman  that  thinks 
she  has  a  pain  in  her  guts.  An'  as  for  the  lawyers, 
whatever  they  may  make  in  this  world  sure  they  pay  for 
it  in  the  next.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  a  man  with  a  shop  or 
a  decent  trade  is  better  off  in  his  way  than  most  of  these 
men  that  looks  down  on  the  whole  human  race  because 
they're  in  what's  called  a  profession." 

"  An'  is  Banking  a  profession  now?  "  asked  Moran. 

"  It  depends  on  who  you  ask,"  answered  the  black- 
smith. "  If  ye  asked  an  Army  officer  he'd  turn  his  nose 
up  at  the  very  notion.  But  a  Bank  Manager  would  say 
it  was;  an'  his  wife  would  take  her  Bible  oath  on  it. 
There's  big  Mrs.  Berryman  of  the  North-Eastern  Bank 
round  the  corner,  an'  she  wouldn't  take  tay  with  a  shop- 
keeper's wife  short  of  forcible  feedin'." 

"  Well,  you  can't  say  the  Bank  men  is  upsettin'  them- 
selves. There's  Mr.  Berryman  is  as  civil  as  a  man  could 
be;  an'  I  hear  the  new  man  at  the  Downshire  Bank  is 
very  pleasant  an'  civil  spoken." 


18         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"He  has  to  be,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "It's  his 
business.  I  have  to  be  civil  to  the  farmers.  But  if 
horses  had  only  two  feet  instead  of  four,  I'd  only  have 
to  be  half  as  civil.  What's  young  Jackson  bringin' 
down  that  pup  this  afternoon  for?  Because  I  have  the 
name  of  havin'  a  bit  of  money,  an'  have  no  Bank  ac- 
count. He  thinks  it  plazes  me  to  be  cuttin'  the  tail  off  a 
Bank  man's  dog.  That's  part  of  his  pay,  that  notion 
he  has  got.  An'  ould  Berryman  was  here  yesterday  for 
me  to  put  a  new  axle  in  the  wheelbarrow.  I  seen  him 
cuttin'  the  ould  one  out  of  it  the  day  before  with  a  cowld 
chisel,  an'  he  swore  to  me  when  he  come  down  it  was 
rusted  through.  If  he'd  known  I  have  a  hundred  an' 
fifty  pounds  in  gold  lyin'  in  the  house  he'd  have  it  out  of 
me  if  he  had  to  put  as  many  works  in  the  wheelbarrow  as 
there  are  in  a  watch.  They're  teetotal  terrors  for  busi- 
ness in  that  North-Eastern  Bank.  An'  anything  they 
have  they  hould  on  to  like  a  bulldog.  My  Aunt  Susan 
put  twenty  pound  in  with  them  once  through  ould  Ber- 
ryman sendin'  down  the  cashier  to  buy  a  briar  pipe  in 
the  wee  shop,  an'  they  near  pulled  the  clothes  off  her  be- 
fore they'd  let  her  out  with  it  again  the  day  she  went 
for  it. 

"  An'  as  for  insurance  I  declare  to  ye  ould  Berryman 
had  me  near  asthray  in  the  head  lately  about  insurin' 
the  house  an'  forge.  I  thought  I  had  him  choked  off  a 
week  ago  tellin'  him  I'd  insured  with  the  new  man  in  the 
opposition  Bank ;  but  it  only  made  him  worse  than  iver, 
him  doubtin'  I'd  taken  my  account  where  I'd  taken  my 
Fire  Insurance.  'Twas  that  brought  him  here  about 
the  wheelbarrow." 

"  Well,  for  a  man  that  has  the  head  on  him  you're 
supposed  to  have,"  said  Moran,  "  it  doesn't  look  the 
wisest  thing  in  the  world  to  have  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pound  lyin'  in  the  house  an'  it  not  insured  even." 

"  I've  been  thinkin'  the  same  thing  myself  this  good 
while,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  an'  if  I  live  till  the  morrow 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         19 

I'm  goih'  up  to  the  Downshire  Bank  to  give  the  new  man 
a  lift.  He's  a  brave,  pleasant-spoken  man  himself  for 
one  thing,  an'  I  like  young  Jackson  for  another." 

"  Troth,  he's  a  jolly  fellow,  Jackson,"  said  Moran, 
"  even  if,  as  ye  say,  it's  all  for  business." 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  all  is,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  There's  a  kind  of  natural  dacency  in  him  too.  An' 
he's  fond  of  a  dog,  an'  a  bit  of  sport,  an'  has  a  great 
leanin'  to  the  girls,  an'  ye  niver  seen  a  man  with  the 
same  notions  hadn't  good  points  about  him.  If  the 
dogs  an'  the  weemin  takes  to  a  man  there's  seldom  much 
the  matter  with  him." 

"  I  see  Miss  Nora  sparkin'  about  him  lately,"  said 
Moran.  "  He'll  have  his  hands  full  there." 

"  He  will,"  said  the  blacksmith  heartily,  "  he  will. 
She'll  lead  him  a  dance.  She's  a  divil,  an'  has  been  since 
she  could  walk.  D'ye  mind  the  day  she  tied  the  bundle 
of  crackers  to  the  black  mare's  tail  an'  you  dhrivin'  out 
the  ould  Canon  that's  dead  an'  buried  to  a  funeral." 

"  Troth  do  I,"  answered  Moran.  "  The  track  of  the 
ould  mare's  off  hind  hoof  is  in  my  shinbone  yet,  for  all  I 
was  on  the  dickey.  I  thought  she'd  ha'  kicked  the  stars 
out  of  the  sky.  But  Miss  Nora's  a  deal  quieted  down 
since  then." 

"  Divil  a  very  much,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  She  has 
to  make  more  of  a  show  of  behavin'  herself  now  she's  a 
kind  of  half  grown  up,  but  she'd  stop  at  very  little  even 
yet.  'Twas  from  the  mother,  they  say,  she  got  the 
tearaway  style  of  her;  an'  I  believe  it;  for  there's  not 
much  of  the  divil  in  ould  Normanby." 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  the  dacency  of  the  ould  man 
in  her,  well,"  said  Moran.  "  I  mind  the  distress  of  her 
when  she  saw  the  state  of  the  ould  mare's  hind  legs  the 
very  time  ye  were  talkin'  about.  To  the  day  ould 
Whiteface  went  to  the  kennel  she  niver  passed  the  Rec- 
tory but  Miss  Nora  came  out  with  a  lump  of  sugar  for 
her,  an'  would  stop  me  to  give  it  to  her  if  I  was  drivin' 


20         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

the  Lord  Lieutenant  himself.  If  Mr.  Jackson  gets  Miss 
Nora  he'll  be  doin'  a  big  day's  work.  An'  sure  it  would 
do  ye  good  to  look  at  her.  She's  as  limber  as  an  ash 
sapling.  I  was  just  lookin'  at  her  this  mornin'  go  in'  up 
the  street,  with  the  yellow  curls  flutterin'  about  her  face, 
an'  a  sparkle  in  her  eye  would  light  a  candle." 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  Phil,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
"  it's  time  ye  were  away  to  your  horses.  I  wish  Mrs. 
Biddy  Moran  heard  ye,  that's  all.  A  man  that  has 
three  red-headed  childer  as  like  their  mother  as  two  peas 
runnin'  about  the  sthreets  of  Portnamuck  has  betther 
not  be  thinkin'  of  yellow  curls.  There'd  be  some  excuse 
for  Mr.  Jackson  lettin'  them  run  in  his  mind.  Bedad, 
there's  ten  sthrikin'.  He'll  have  to  put  them  out  of  his 
thoughts  now  if  he  wants  to  balance  this  evenin'  in  time 
to  bring  me  the  pup.  An'  I  must  start  an'  be  doin' 
somethin'  myself.  Ye'd  keep  me  bletherin'  here  all  day. 
I  wish  my  father  had  put  me  to  car-dhrivin',  instead  of 
makin'  me  work  for  my  livin'  !  " 

Whether  or  not  yellow  curls  had  been  running  in  his 
head  before  that  hour,  the  last  stroke  of  ten  found  Mr. 
Jackson  at  his  desk,  his  ink-bottles  clean  and  filled  to 
the  precise  depth  that  ensured  a  full  dip  without  the 
danger  of  blots,  his  cash-book  neatly  headed,  his  cuffs 
carefully  turned  back  in  the  shiny  arms  of  his  office  coat, 
and  on  his  rather  boyish  countenance  a  general  air  of 
being  ready  and  even  willing  to  do  business  that  would 
have  suggested  to  the  initiated  the  presence  of  an  In- 
terim Manager  at  the  least. 

On  this  occasion  it  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  new 
manager  had  only  very  recently  taken  up  his  duties. 

At  a  two-handed  branch  the  manager  and  his  one-man 
staff  must  either  be  enemies  or  comrades ;  and  there  was 
every  sign  that  the  latter  relation  was  likely  to  obtain 
between  the  cashier  and  his  new  chief,  when  the  first 
caution  and  formality  had  passed  off. 

The  two  officials  had  come  to  certain  conclusions  about 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         21 

each  other.  The  manager  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  was  lucky  in  his  cashier,  who  seemed  a  quick  and 
competent  hand,  with  a  sound  knowledge  of  country 
business.  He  noted  that  Mr.  Jackson  was  rather  ad- 
dicted to  sport,  and  somewhat  of  a  Philistine  about  lit- 
erature, music,  and  art ;  prone  to  hasty  action,  and  swift 
repentance  therefore ;  and  finally,  that  he  was  a  little  in 
love  with  Miss  Nora  Normanby,  and,  like  most  young 
men  in  his  condition,  very  ready  to  talk  about  the  lady 
of  his  affections. 

The  cashier  for  his  part  had  already  confided  to  his 
intimates  that  "  the  new  boss  was  a  real  decent  sort." 
Beyond  this  vague  appreciation  and  a  comfortable  sense 
that  his  own  importance  in  the  office  was  much  enhanced 
by  his  senior's  present  ignorance  of  the  country  around, 
he  had  not  concerned  himself  very  much. 

Had  he  been  dowered  with  a  keener  faculty  of  observa- 
tion he  would  have  observed  that  his  chief,  still  well  on 
the  right  side  of  forty,  was  given  to  affect  the  airs  of 
a  man  still  more  mature,  was  a  little  inclined  to  philoso- 
phizing, at  times  with  a  tinge  of  cynicism,  and  while 
advising  others  from  the  point  of  view  of  pure  reason, 
was  in  his  own  actions  rather  more  influenced  by  human 
frailty  than  he  was  quite  aware. 

The  first  customer  of  the  day  was  a  large,  red-faced, 
comfortable-looking  woman  arrayed  in  a  striped  petti- 
coat and  a  tartan  shawl.  The  manager,  who  had  formed 
a  very  favorable  opinion  of  his  cashier's  counter  manner, 
was  pained  to  observe  a  certain  curtness  in  Mr.  Jack- 
son's address,  and  when  the  woman  came  along  the  coun- 
ter to  greet  him  he  thought  it  necessary  to  shake  hands 
with  her  a  little  more  effusively  than  her  appearance 
warranted. 

"  So  you're  the  new  manager  —  Mr.  Wildridge,  isn't 
it  ?  —  an'  a  nice  friendly  man  ye  seem  to  be.  Well,  I 
hope  ye'll  be  no  worse  than  the  last  man.  A  decent, 
kindly  gentleman,  an'  very  good  to  the  poor  an*  needy. 


22         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

But  ye'll  be  much  the  same ;  I  know  that  by  the  look  of 
ye.  And  there's  a  great  name  of  you  in  the  town  al- 
ready. We're  very  plain  outspoken  people  about  the 
town  of  Portnamuck,  an'  if  we  didn't  like  ye  we  wouldn't 
be  long  sayin'  it.  But  everybody  says  you'll  do.  I've  a 
wee  bit  of  a  bill  here  that  I'll  be  in  to  renew  some  of  these 
days;  but  I'll  come  in  good  time.  Ye'll  have  no  need 
to  notice  ould  Marget  Ann.  I  don't  owe  another  penny 
in  the  town,  thank  the  Lord;  an'  I'll  soon  be  clear  of 
this  too.  The  youngest  of  seven'll  soon  be  able  to  earn 
for  himself,  and  then  I  can  sit  down  an'  fold  my  hands. 
Maybe  afther  awhile  it's  bringin'  in  to  you  I'll  be,  an' 
not  wantin'  from  ye  any  more.  Good  mornin',  sir,  an' 
bless  your  sonsy  face.  Good  mornin',  Mr.  Jackson. 
Keep  an  eye  on  him,  Mr.  Wildridge,  sir,  he's  a  terrible 
young  man  among  the  girls." 

The  swing-doors  of  the  office  flung  back  to  their  widest 
to  accommodate  Marget  Ann's  ample  girth,  and  clashed 
noisily  after  her. 

"  Seems  a  decent,  struggling  creature  that,"  observed 
the  manager. 

"  An  infernal  old  rip,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  In  debt 
in  every  shop  in  the  town.  Drinks  like  a  fish.  Lives  on 
what  the  elder  children  send  her  from  America,  and 
hasn't  done  a  stroke  since  her  bad  tongue  drove  the  hus- 
band to  his  grave.  The  bill's  been  running  here  these 
six  years,  and  there's  a  fight  every  time  to  get  anything 
off  it.  An  oily-tongued  old  rascal,  sir.  Keep  an  eye 
on  her  if  you  take  my  advice." 

The  manager,  a  little  abashed  by  his  failure  to  see 
through  Marget  Ann's  oiliness,  did  not  look  up  from  his 
writing  till  the  swing-doors  opened  again,  to  disclose  a 
small  gray-headed  man  of  sixty  or  over,  dressed  in  the 
remains  of  what  had  been  a  long  brown  overcoat  and 
a  pair  of  corduroy  trousers,  the  bottoms  of  which  hung 
in  various  finenesses  of  fringe  round  two  lumps  of  mud 
where  doubtless  lurked  a  pair  of  boots.  His  face, 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         23 

tanned  to  mahogany  by  exposure  to  the  weather,  was 
covered  by  an  extraordinary  network  of  wrinkles  thrown 
up  into  clearer  outline  by  the  dirt  with  which  they  were 
filled,  and  his  whole  appearance  to  the  inhabitant  of  a 
city  would  have  suggested  squalid  poverty. 

The  man  took  off  his  hat  humbly  as  he  entered,  and 
laying  it  on  the  counter,  leant  over  confidentially  to  Mr. 
Jackson. 

"  I  came  in  about  that  wee  bill,"  he  said. 

"  What  wee  bill  ?  "  said  the  cashier  testily.  "  Do  you 
think  we've  only  one  bill  in  the  place.  Oh,  you're 
Barney  of  the  Mill.  Ten  pounds  your  bill  is.  I  sup- 
pose you're  going  to  pay  it?  " 

The  man  fumbled  uneasily  with  his  hat. 

"  Well  now,  your  honor,  if  you  could  see  your  way  to 
renew  it  this  time." 

"  Go  up  to  the  manager,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  Make 
him  pay  a  pound,  sir,"  he  whispered. 

"  You'll  have  to  pay  off  at  least  a  pound,"  said  the 
manager.  "  This  bill  has  been  running  too  long  with- 
out reduction." 

"  I  could  have  give  five  pound  this  time,  your  honor, 
an'  maybe  more,  but  I  had  the  misfortune  to  have  a 
springin'  cow  die  on  my  hands  last  week,  an'  I'll  have  to 
scrape  ivery  penny  I  can  to  try  an'  buy  another,  for 
the  childher  must  have  a  dhrop  of  milk " 

"  That  cow  has  died  every  four  months  these  three 
years,"  whispered  Jackson ;  "  and  his  youngest  child  is 
a  tram-conductor  in  Belfast." 

"  You  must  reduce  this  bill  at  least  a  pound,"  said  the 
manager  firmly. 

"  You're  a  hard  man,  your  honor,  a  hard  man ;  but 
if  I  must,  I  must."  And  the  old  fellow  drew  a  small 
leather  bag  from  some  recess  of  the  brown  overcoat,  and 
pulling  out  a  roll  of  one-pound  notes,  disentangled  two 
and  passed  them  across  to  the  cashier.  "  Don't  be 
chargin'  me  too  much  now,  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  said. 


24         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  That  was  wicked  intherest  ye  put  on  me  last  time,  an' 
me  only  three  days  late  comin'  in  about  the  bill." 

"  That's  the  best  I  can  do,  Barney,"  said  Jackson 
cheerfully,  handing  out  the  change.  "  I  suppose  John 
will  be  in  to  sign  later  on.  Come  three  days  earlier  the 
next  time,  and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do  about  the 
interest." 

"  It  seems  hard  to  squeeze  a  poor  devil  like  that,"  said 
the  manager  when  Barney  had  withdrawn. 

"  Faith,  sir,"  said  Jackson,  "  Barney  doesn't  consider 
himself  a  poor  devil  at  all.  He  has  twenty-five  acres  of 
good  land,  and  has  brought  up  six  children  on  it." 

"  But,  good  heavens,"  said  the  manager,  "  look  at  the 
dirt  and  squalor  of  the  man." 

"  Oh,  that's  because  it's  bill-day  with  Barney,"  said 
Jackson.  "  It  wouldn't  do  to  come  in  here  with  his 
Sunday  suit  on.  He'd  expect  to  be  made  pay  more  than 
a  pound,  and  he'd  far  rather  pay  less.  But  he  and  his 
bailsman  are  good  enough  for  the  money.  Every  now 
and  then  Barney  — "  Mr.  Jackson  broke  off  hurriedly 
as  a  figure  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he 
whispered  eagerly,  "  do  you  remember  my  pointing  out 
Miss  Nora  Normanby  to  you  yesterday  evening? 
Here's  her  father,  the  rector." 

An  old  man  of  about  sixty  entered.  The  manager 
had  a  swift  impression  of  a  tall,  stooping  figure,  mild 
blue  eyes  peering  uncertainly  through  gold-rimmed 
glasses  perched  on  the  bridge  of  a  very  hooked  nose,  and 
a  profusion  of  patriarchal  locks  of  pure  white  hair  fall- 
ing over  the  neck  of  a  shabby  black  cloak. 

The  old  gentleman  raised  a  very  old  and  rusty  clerical 
hat  as  he  caught  the  manager's  eye,  and  bowed  a  little 
ceremoniously. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  thin  clear  voice, 
slightly  tremulous  with  age.  "  I  think  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  meeting  the  new  manager,  Mr.  Wildridge.  Good 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          25 

morning,  Mr.  Jackson.  Perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough,  Mr.  Jackson,  to  present  me  to  your  chief." 

"  This  is  Mr.  Normanby,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackson ; 
"  one  of  the  Bank's  oldest  customers." 

"  Too  old,  Mr.  Wildridge,  too  old  I  am  afraid  to  be  of 
much  account  either  physically  or  financially.  You 
mustn't  be  misled,  sir,  by  your  cashier's  dwelling  on  my 
long  connection  with  the  Downshire  Bank.  From  a 
Bank  point  of  view  I'm  afraid  I  am  very  small  beer,  Mr. 
Wildridge.  But  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance, sir.  I  bid  a  hearty  welcome  to  our  latest 
townsman.  And  you  mustn't  make  little  of  your  posi- 
tion, Mr.  Wildridge.  We  think  ourselves  a  rather  im- 
portant community.  You  are  now,  sir,  a  citizen  of  no 
mean  city." 

"  And  one  that  is  likely  to  be  even  more  important 
in  the  near  future,  if  all  I  learn  is  correct,"  said  Mr. 
Wildridge.  "  I've  been  hearing  great  accounts  of  new 
enterprises  —  mills,  and  so  on.  I  rather  think,  too,  I 
heard  the  name  of  a  Mr.  Normanby  mentioned  in  con- 
nection with  them.  I  am  afraid,  sir,  you  have  been  be- 
littling your  importance.  But  perhaps  it  isn't  the  same 
Mr.  Normanby?" 

It  is  only  fair  to  Mr.  Wildridge  to  say  that  he  had 
just  read  a  slip  passed  over  by  his  cashier.  "  Rub  it  in 
pretty  thick.  Decent  as  they're  made ;  but  a  bit  vain." 

"  You  flatter  me,  sir,  you  flatter  me,"  answered  Mr. 
Normanby  in  high  good-humor.  "  I  have  indeed  tried 
to  foster  new  industries  in  our  district,  but  with  poor 
success.  A  fruit-growing  enterprise  that  promised  well 
was  blighted  by  the  climate.  Our  people  did  their  best ; 
but  circumstances  were  against  them.  It  was  a  pity, 
too  —  by  the  third  year " 

He  looked  vacantly  before  him,  and  tapped  the  coun- 
ter with  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  muttering  softly  to 
himself. 


26         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  recalling  him- 
self with  a  start.  "  I  owe  you  a  thousand  apologies  for 
my  absent-mindedness.  I  am  incurable,  incurable.  I 
was  actually  calculating  the  number  of  barrels  of  apples 
per  acre.  We  failed,  sir,  anyhow.  And  we  failed  with 
some  other  little  ventures.  But  we'll  succeed  yet. 
We'll  do  great  things  in  Portnamuck  some  time.  I  have 
confidence  in  the  people.  A  little  lazy  perhaps ;  but 
kindly,  sir,  kindly.  You  find  them  a  kindly,  warm- 
hearted people,  Mr.  Jackson  ?  " 

"  I've  never  met  the  like  of  them  anywhere,"  returned 
Jackson  with  enthusiasm.  I  am  afraid  he  winked 
slightly  at  his  manager  at  the  same  time. 

"  If  I  thought  material  prosperity  would  harden  them 
and  take  away  their  unsophisticated  kindness  of  heart," 
said  Mr.  Normanby,  "  I  would  have  no  part  in  fostering 
industrial  development  among  my  people.  But  I  have 
known  them  for  a  lifetime.  Honest  and  true  they  are, 
and  honest  and  true  they  will  remain.  Why  should 
wealth  corrupt  them  — "  he  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  office  floor  oblivious  of  his  audience  —  "  wealth  is  a 
good,  a  great  good  to  humanity  if  it  be  but  rightly  used 
—  I  declare,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  dreaming  again.  An  old 
castle-builder,  Mr.  Wildridge,  an  old  castle-builder.  It 
is  the  appointed  portion  of  the  old,  sir  — *  Your  old  men 
shall  dream  dreams  ' ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  was  dreaming 
dreams  even  before  I  had  an  excuse  of  age." 

"  It  is  a  generous  dream,  Mr.  Normanby,"  said  the 
manager,  "  to  dream  of  the  public  good." 

"  You  are  kind,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man  with 
patent  gratification.  "  Perhaps  I  may  say  that  my 
dreaming  is  not  altogether  selfish.  Sometimes  I  throw 
off  my  years,  even  yet,  and  see  visions.  Visions  of  a 
prosperous,  contented  town,  a  hive  of  busy  bees,  doing 
good  to  the  world  and  rej  oicing  in  it.  I  hear  the  throb 
of  steam  and  the  hum  of  wheels.  I  see  an  iron  way 
stretching  from  our  doors  to  carry  the  product  of  our 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         27 

industry  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  You  are  smiling,  Mr. 
Jackson,"  said  Mr.  Normanby,  breaking  off  in  his  rhap- 
sody —  "  no,  no ;  I  am  never  hurt,  my  dear  young  friend, 
that  you  smile  at  me,  and  less  than  ever  to-day.  I  have 
a  little  secret  to  confide  to  you  both.  I  feel  I  must  tell 
some  one ;  and  whom  sooner  than  the  keepers  of  the  pub- 
lic purse.  I  know  the  sanctity  of  a  banker's  word. 

"  But  first  of  all,  Mr.  Wildridge,  I  must  put  a  small 
business  proposition  before  you.  My  little  secret  if  dis- 
closed might  sway  you  to  your  disadvantage.  I  have 
called  to  know  if  you  could  advance  me  a  further  sum  of 
fifty  pounds.  I  say  a  further  sum,  sir,  since  I  am  al- 
ready indebted  to  you  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred 
pounds." 

"  I  know,  Mr.  Normanby,"  said  the  manager.  "  On 
a  bill  with  your  cousin  in  Belfast." 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  see 
you  are  on  the  alert.  No  hoodwinking  you  financial 
men.  Now,  sir,  I  am  a  business  man  too,  and  I  know 
you  will  require  security.  I  thought  perhaps  the  deeds 
of  a  little  piece  of  property  of  mine  in  the  town  here 
might  be  sufficient." 

The  manager  picked  up  a  scrap  of  paper  from  the 
ever-watchful  Mr.  Jackson.  "  Title  defective,"  he  read. 

"  It  is  due  to  you,"  went  on  Mr.  Normanby,  "  to  say 
that  I  understand  there  is  some  flaw  in  the  documents 
relating  to  the  property.  My  old  grandfather,  who  was 
something  of  a  dreamer  too,  Mr.  Wildridge,  drew  up  a 
sort  of  informal  agreement  with  the  present  Mr.  de 
Bullevant's  father  when  he  took  the  ground  on  which 
the  property  —  once  a  stocking  factory  —  was  built, 
and  I  fear  it  would  not  hold  water.  But  the  loan  would 
be  for  a  very  short  time,  sir,  as  I  will  explain  to  you,  and 
perhaps  you  could  overlook  the  irregularity." 

"  Of  course  the  deeds  would  have  to  be  submitted  to 
my  head  office,  Mr.  Normanby,"  said  the  manager,  "  and 
if  the  flaw  were  serious  —  but  would  the  present  Mr.  de 


28         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Bullevant  not  rectify  the  grant  for  you?  I  presume  it 
was  his  father's  intention  to  give  a  good  title." 

"Undoubtedly,  sir,  undoubtedly,"  answered  Mr. 
Normanby.  "  But  I  have  already  approached  the  pres- 
ent Mr.  de  Bullevant  and  found  him  a  little  wanting  in 
perception  of  the  point  of  honor.  He  requires  a  fine, 
Mr.  Wildridge,  a  heavier  one  than  I  could  at  present 
pay,  and  a  heavier  one  than  is  just.  I  am  afraid  noth- 
ing can  be  done  in  that  direction.  So  I  will  not  press 
you,  sir.  I  am  quite  aware  that  the  matter  must  be 
looked  at  in  a  purely  business  way." 

"  Let  me  see  the  deeds,  anyway,"  said  Mr.  Wildridge. 
"  Perhaps  the  flaw  is  not  vital.  You  may  depend  upon 
it  I  will  do  what  I  can." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Normanby, 
bowing  slightly,  "  and  if  necessary  I  will  avail  myself 
of  your  courtesy.  But  it  may  not  be  necessary.  And 
that  brings  me  to  my  secret:  Mr.  Wildridge,  as  a  new 
friend,  and  Mr.  Jackson  as  an  old  one  " —  he  looked 
from  one  to  another  with  an  air  of  triumph  —  "  I  may 
tell  you  in  confidence  —  of  course  you  will  treat  it  as 
confidential " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  both  with  becoming  impassive- 
ness,  leaning  forward  eagerly  all  the  same. 

"  In  a  short  time,  perhaps  a  few  weeks,  certainly  in 
a  few  months,  you  may  see  me  a  very  wealthy  man." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  a  little 
blankly.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  vision  of  Miss  Nora 
Normanby  as  an  heiress  was  not  an  unmixed  satisfaction 
to  that  young  man. 

"  I  cannot  speak  with  absolute  certainty  yet,"  went 
on  Mr.  Normanby.  "  I  may  not  be  able  to  see  my  way 
clear  to  accept  it ;  but  at  the  present  moment  a  fortune 
is  within  my  reach.  It  is  no  day-dream,  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge," said  the  old  man,  smilingly  shaking  his  head. 
"  Hard  cash,  sir.  Eighty  thousand  jingling,  tingling, 
golden,  minted  quid.  Do  you  read  Stevenson,  sir?  " 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         29 

"Not  a  'Treasure  Island,'  is  it,  Mr.  Normanby?" 
said  the  manager. 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  do,"  answered  Mr.  Normanby.  "  No, 
sir ;  much  simpler  than  that.  But  you'll  have  my  secret 
out  of  me  if  I  delay  much  longer.  Come,  gentlemen," 
he  said,  turning  back  with  an  air  of  mischief,  "  I'll  give 
you  a  hint.  It's  coming  to  me  from  over  the  water. 
Make  the  most  of  that.  And  now  I  must  be  off.  I 
intend  to  confide  also  in  Mr.  Berryman.  He  would  feel 
hurt  if  I  did  not  put  him  on  an  equality  with  his  brother 
bankers." 

Mr.  Wildridge  and  Mr.  Jackson  exchanged  glances  of 
dismay. 

"  You  will  not  omit  to  leave  those  deeds  with  me,  Mr. 
Normanby  ?  "  said  the  manager.  "  If  the  flaw  is  not 
too  serious  the  title  may  satisfy  my  head  office.  And  if 
it  is,  we  may  perhaps  find  some  other  way  out  of  the 
difficulty." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  your  kindness,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Nor- 
manby, raising  his  hat.  "  Good  day,  Mr.  Wildridge. 
Good  day,  Mr.  Jackson." 

There  was  a  few  moments'  silence  in  the  Bank  office 
after  Mr.  Normanby's  departure. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager  at  last, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  this,  eh?  " 

"  Faith,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  He's  an 
awful  old  ass  in  many  ways,  and  somebody  may  be  pull- 
ing his  leg ;  but  he  seems  cocksure  about  it.  There  may 
be  something  in  what  he  says." 

"  He  wouldn't  be  making  up  this  yarn  for  our  bene- 
fit? "  said  the  manager. 

"  Oh  no,  sir,"  said  Jackson  eagerly ;  "  he's  the  soul 
of  honor,  and  quite  above  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  A  remarkably  pretty  girl,  his  daughter,"  remarked 
the  manager,  a  thought  dryly. 

"  It  isn't  that,  really  sir,"  said  the  cashier.  "  Honor 
bright.  I'd  stake  my  life  on  his  word." 


30         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  the  manager.  '*  I 
confess  I  felt  a  little  suspicious.  And  the  hint  about 
our  friend  in  the  Opposition  seemed  rather  artistically 
thrown  in  at  the  end." 

"  Oh,  that's  him  down  to  the  ground,  sir,"  said  Jack- 
son. "  He's  a  desperately  conscientious  old  chap,  and 
he'd  think  he  wasn't  playing  the  game  if  he  didn't  give 
old  Berryman  the  news  after  telling  us.  I  say,  sir ;  it'll 
be  awkward  if  the  whole  story  is  true,  and  that  old  hum- 
bug down  the  street  gets  his  account." 

"  He  hasn't  an  account,  then?  "  said  the  manager. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Jackson,  "  nothing  but  the  bill  here. 
We  didn't  want  him,  he's  always  been  so  hard  up;  and 
they  didn't  want  him  down  the  street.  But  they'll  want 
him  now.  Old  Berryman'll  be  after  him  with  a  terrier. 
Do  you  know,  sir,  I  think  you  should  have  given  him 
that  fifty  pounds.  He'd  keep  a  splendid  account  if  he 
gets  all  that  money.  I'd  have  given  him  the  fifty  on 
chance.  Should  I  put  on  my  hat  and  catch  him  before 
he  gets  to  the  other  Bank  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackson,  all  on  fire  with  the  notion,  had  his  office 
jacket  half  unbuttoned. 

"  I  rather  fancy,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  his  manager  im- 
perturbably,  "  that  you  will  have  some  very  animated 
correspondence  with  your  directors  when  you  become  a 
manager.  But  you'll  be  less  impetuous  by  that  time. 
I  think  we'll  let  things  remain  as  they  are  till  we're  on  a 
little  surer  ground.  We're  all  right  with  Mr.  Nor- 
manby  yet.  We've  obliged  him  before,  and  we  haven't 
refused  him  this  time." 

"  You  don't  know  old  Berryman,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  If  he  finds  the  money's  coming  right  enough,  he'll  go 
up  and  sit  on  Mr.  Normanby's  hall-door  steps  till  he 
gets  an  account  out  of  him." 

"  If  he's  the  man  I  take  him  for  he'll  put  him  off  just 
as  I  did  till  he  has  accurate  information  on  the  subject," 
said  the  manager ;  "  and  we  can  surely  get  that  as  soon 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         31 

as  he  can.  I'm  too  new  a  comer  to  have  much  chance; 
but  I'll  rely  on  you.  You'll  be  out  of  this  at  four,  and 
if  you  haven't  more  information  than  the  North-Eastern 
Bank  by  ten  o'clock  to-morrow,  you're  not  the  man  I 
think  you.  You  have  a  tremendous  pull  over  them,  you 
know." 

"  How,  sir?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson,  puzzled. 

"  He's  an  ordinary  enough  chap  to  look  at,  the  cashier 
down  there,  isn't  he?  "  said  the  manager. 

"  He's  a  common-looking  little  bounder,"  said  Jack- 
son heartily.  "  But  I  don't  see  —  Oh !  "  said  Jack- 
son. "  It  wouldn't  be  a  bit  of  good,  sir.  If  she  saw  I 
was  trying  to  pump  her,  the  dickens  a  word  I  could  get 
out  of  her.  You  don't  know  how  perverse  girls  can  be." 

"Do  I  not?"  said  the  manager.  "That's  why  my 
hair's  so  thin.  But  in  my  young  days  there  used  to  be 
a  way  of  getting  round  them." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  said  Jackson  soberly,  "  and  with  most 
girls  I'm  just  as  fly  as  the  next.  But  somehow  with 
her " 

"  Hallo,"  said  the  manager ;  "  for  a  man  on  a  hundred 
and  forty  this  looks  serious.  But  a  father-in-law  with 
eighty  thousand  —  all  right,  now,  I'll  not  chaff.  But 
make  sure  the  money's  there  —  strictly  in  the  interests 
of  the  Bank,  of  course  —  and  let  me  know  to-morrow  if 
you  can.  There's  a  customer.  Dismiss  the  whole  thing 
from  your  mind  till  you're  finished." 

I  am  sure  Mr.  Jackson  did  his  best  to  follow  his  man- 
ager's advice.  But  it  is  on  record  in  the  books  of  the 
Bank  till  this  day  that  on  that  particular  evening  the 
cash  of  the  Portnamuck  branch  of  the  Downshire  Bank 
balanced  one  pound  fourteen  shillings  and  twopence 
short. 


CHAPTER  IV 

KNOWING  from  previous  experience  that  Mr. 
Denis  O'Flaherty's  forge  was  one  of  the  chief 
centers  of  gossip  in  Portnamuck,  Mr.  Jackson 
on  quitting  the  Bank  concluded  that  he  would  be  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone  by  keeping  to  his  original  in- 
tention and  bringing  his  fox-terrier  pup  to  Denis  for 
the  proposed  mutilation,  or,  as  dog-fanciers  generally 
look  on  the  act,  improvement.     On  arriving  at  the  forge 
he  found  Phil  Moran  and  a  little  knot  of  idlers  gathered 
to  view  the  ceremony. 

All  was  ready ;  the  fatal  implement  was  resting  on  the 
anvil,  and  the  blacksmith's  assistant,  a  heavy,  stupid- 
looking  young  giant,  was  heating  a  rod  of  nail-iron  in 
the  fire  for  the  necessary  cautery. 

"  Begad,  a  very  tidy-looking  pup,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said 
the  blacksmith,  eyeing  the  dog  critically.  "  Would  ye 
take  a  fair  offer  for  him  ?  " 

"  He's  not  for  sale,  Denis,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  I'll  give  ye  half  a  sovereign  for  him  on  chance,"  said 
the  blacksmith,  looking  at  the  dog  with  great  approval. 

"  No  use,  Denis,"  returned  Mr.  Jackson.  "  In  the 
first  place  I  paid  a  guinea  for  him,  and  in  the  second 
he's  intended  for  a  present." 

"  Ah,  sure  she  has  plenty  of  dogs  already,"  said  the 
blacksmith.  "  Now  don't  be  making  him  blush,  boys  " 
—  to  the  grinning  audience.  "  But  come  along,  now ; 
you  hold  the  dog  and  I'll  have  it  off  in  a  twinkling. 
Ready  with  that  hot  iron,  Johnny." 

"  Hold  on  till  I  get  it  well  red,"  said  Johnny,  tugging 
at  the  bellows  with  one  hand.  "  I  don't  think  you're 
goin'  about  the  job  right,  master,  all  the  same." 

32 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         33 

"  How's  that,  Johnny?  "  said  the  blacksmith,  winking 
at  the  crowd,  among  whom  Johnny's  want  of  mental 
brilliancy  was  common  property. 

"  My  ould  uncle  Joe,  that  had  the  name  of  knowin* 
more  about  dogs  than  any  man  in  Ireland,  always  bit 
the  end  off  a  pup's  tail.  He  said  it  was  a  far  neater 
job  —  more  of  a  finish  about  it." 

"  Do  ye  say  so,  Johnny  ?  "  answered  the  blacksmith. 
He  rubbed  his  chin  in  affected  indecision.  "  Your  uncle 
Joe's  opinion  is  worth  havin',  for  I  always  heard  he  was 
a  very  knowledgeable  man  about  dogs.  Maybe  we 
should  get  the  tail  bitten  off.  But  who'd  we  get  to  do  it 
for  us?" 

"  Who  better  than  Johnny  himself,"  said  Phil  Moran ; 
"  him  that  has  seen  it  done?  " 

"  That's  true,"  chorused  the  crowd  in  great  delight ; 
"  Johnny's  the  man." 

"  Aw,  begob,"  said  Johnny,  drawing  back.  "  I 
wouldn't  undertake  the  job  myself  at  all." 

"  There's  nobody  else  for  it  but  you,"  said  the  black- 
smith persuasively.  "  If  you  don't  take  it  up,  now  that 
your  Uncle  Joe's  dead  and  gone,  the  whole  art  of  the 
thing'll  be  lost  to  the  country.  You'll  make  it  worth 
his  while,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  blacksmith,  drawing 
a  face  at  the  cashier. 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  said  Jackson,  entering  fully  into 
the  spirit  of  the  j  oke.  "  I'll  give  him  half  a  crown  if  he 
makes  a  neat  job  of  it." 

"  A  fair  offer,"  cried  the  blacksmith.  "  Come  on 
now,  Johnny."  He  grasped  the  hesitating  Johnny  by 
the  arm  and  pulled  him  forward.  "  Here,  Phil,  do  you 
hold  the  dog,  and  I'll  take  charge  of  the  hot  iron.  Down 
on  your  knees,  Johnny."  And  before  Johnny  knew 
where  he  was,  the  dog's  tail  was  at  his  lips. 

"  You  won't  let  him  actually  do  it,"  whispered  Jack- 
son agitatedly  to  the  blacksmith.  "  No,  Denis,  you 
will  not.  I  won't  let  you." 


34         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  blacksmith  regret- 
fully ;  "  I  won't  then.  I'll  pull  the  brute  away  before 
he  bites.  But  it's  spoilin'  a  great  joke.  Here,  Phil, 
give  me  the  dog,  and  do  you  work  the  iron.  Now, 
Johnny,  my  son,  don't  bite  till  I  give  you  the  word." 

The  blacksmith  pushed  the  dog  towards  the  hesitating 
Johnny  amid  loud  applause  from  the  grinning  specta- 
tors. "  Go  it,  Johnny,"  cried  one.  "  Don't  make 
two  bites  of  a  cherry,"  cried  another.  "  Mind  you, 
Johnny,"  shouted  a  third,  "  it's  sudden  death  if  you 
swallow  the  stump." 

"  Are  you  ready  now,  Johnny  ?  "  asked  the  black- 
smith. "  Watch  my  hand.  I'll  give  three  taps  on  my 
knee  and  at  the  third  do  you  bite  like  blazes.  Ready 
with  the  iron,  Phil." 

The  blacksmith  raised  his  hand,  the  crowd  bent  for- 
ward eagerly.  Moran  took  a  final  tug  at  the  bellows, 
and  Mr.  Jackson,  who  was  by  no  means  sure  of  Denis's 
bona  fides,  stepped  closer  to  his  arm  as  a  precautionary 
measure.  Johnny  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  he  said,  throwing  up  his  head  sud- 
denly and  struggling  to  his  knees.  "  No,  I  can't  do  it." 

"  Ah,  coward,  coward,"  came  from  the  disappointed 
onlookers.  "  You're  no  man,  Johnny ;  you're  backing 
out  of  it." 

"  Come  on  now,"  said  the  blacksmith  coaxingly. 
"  It's  easy  earned  money.  A  minute'll  do  the  job. 
You'll  give  him  three-an'-sixpence,  Mr.  Jackson?  He 
says  he  will,  Johnny.  Come  along;  quick  now  before 
he  changes  his  mind." 

"  All  right,"  said  Johnny  with  dismal  resolution.  He 
clenched  his  fists,  the  blacksmith  again  raised  a  hand, 
the  elbowing  crowd  drew  round  in  a  closer  semicircle; 
when  all  at  once  the  hushed  expectation  was  broken  by 
a  ringing  girlish  voice  from  the  doorway. 

"  What  mischief  are  you  up  to,  Denis  O'Flaherty  ? 
What's  this  I  hear  you're  doing  on  a  poor  dog?  " 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         35 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry,"  said  the  blacksmith  in  dismay, 
"  it's  Miss  Nora  !  " 

Instantly  Johnny  scrambled  to  his  feet,  picked  up  a 
hammer,  and  began  industriously  to  batter  an  old  piece 
of  horseshoe.  Phil  Moran  dropped  the  handle  of  the 
bellows  like  a  hot  potato.  The  clatter  of  Mr.  Jackson's 
severe  back-fall  over  a  heap  of  scrap-iron  was  covered 
by  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the  crowd  as  it  dispersed 
before  Miss  Normanby''s  vigorous  switch,  and  his  person 
all  but  the  legs  was  concealed  in  the  odorous  obscurity 
of  the  rubbish  corner  behind  the  forge  fire.  The  black- 
smith alone  stood  his  ground,  or  rather  sat  it,  with  the 
dog  between  his  knees.  But  he  didn't  look  at  all  easy 
in  his  mind,  and  eyed  the  tall  figure  of  Miss  Normanby 
and  her  threatening  switch  with  comical  mistrust. 

"  It's  all  right,  Miss  Nora,"  he  said  apologetically. 
"  We're  just  cropping  a  dog's  tail.  You're  a  bit  of  a 
dog-fancier  yourself,  and  you  know  it  must  be  done." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  must  be  done  or  not,"  said 
Miss  Normanby.  "  I  know  it  is  done.  But  you're  not 
going  to  torture  the  poor  little  pup  by  letting  this  dirty 
cannibal,  Johnny  Malone,  bite  it  off.  Faugh!  you 
disgusting  big  brute.  Go  away  and  hide  yourself, 
Johnny " 

"  In  the  name  of  goodness,  Miss  Nora "  began 

the  blacksmith. 

"  You  needn't  bother  lying,  Denis,"  interrupted  Miss 
Normanby  curtly.  "  Little  Billy  Dougherty  told  me  all 
about  it." 

"  It  was  only  a  joke,  Miss  Nora,"  protested  the  black- 
smith. "  We  never  meant  to  let  him  do  it.  I  was  go- 
ing to  take  the  tail  off  myself." 

'*  And  what  were  you  going  to  do  with  its  poor  bleed- 
ing stump?  "  demanded  Miss  Normanby. 

"  Oh,  just  a  touch  with  the  hot  iron  there,"  said  the 
blacksmith.  "  Don't,  Miss  Nora,"  he  shouted ;  "  for 
heaven's  sake  watch !  You'll  put  my  eye  out !  " 


36         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Drop  the  dog,"  cried  Miss  Normanby,  brandishing 
the  hissing  iron  within  an  inch  of  the  blacksmith's  nose. 
"  Drop  him  now,  Denis ;  quick.  That's  right.  Who 
owns  him?  Tell  me,  or  I'll  see  how  a  touch  of  a  hot 
iron  will  do  with  you.  Come  on  now,  Denis !  Tell  me." 
She  gave  his  leather  apron  an  experimental  poke. 
"  And  that's  nothing  to  the  way  your  nose  will  fizzle. 
Quick,  tell  me." 

"  The  dog's  my  own,  Miss  Nora,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
backing  away  frantically.  "  I  bought  him  for  half  a 
sovereign  from  my  brother-in-law  in  Loughbritty. 
Honor  bright,  I  did,  Miss  Nora." 

"  Very  well,  Denis.  You'll  have  that  dog  cropped  in 
a  proper  and  humane  fashion  at  the  vet's.  Don't  for- 
get. I'll  ask  him  about  it,  mind.  And  I'll  forgive  you 
this  time,  because  you  know  no  better.  But  if  I  find  out 
it  was  anybody  else  who  should  know  better,  I'll  put 
them  out  of  the  town.  Good-by,  now,  Denis,  and  mind 
what  I  say.  If  you  don't  heed  me  I'll  tell  Father  Kelly, 
and  he'll  put  a  curse  on  you  in  Irish  will  make  your 
teeth  fall  out  of  your  gums.  There's  your  hot  iron." 
She  walked  over  to  the  fire  and  thrust  the  iron  rod  into 
the  blaze.  "  Hallo,  Denis,"  she  cried,  "  who's  this  hid- 
ing behind  the  fire?  " 

"  For  the  love  of  goodness,  Miss  Nora,"  cried  the 
blacksmith,  pulling  her  back  in  pretended  alarm,  "  keep 
away  from  him.  That's  drunken  Billy,  the  horse- 
blocker,  an'  he's  as  full  as  a  fiddler,  an'  as  cross  as  a  bag 
of  weasels.  Don't  interfere  with  him,  if  you're  wise. 
He's  a  bad  one  in  drink." 

"  What's  he  cross  for  if  he's  full  ?  "  said  Miss  Nora. 
"  I  wouldn't  be  cross  if  I  was  full,  I'm  sure.  Watch  me 
singe  his  trousers."  She  plucked  the  iron  out  of  the  fire. 

"  Easy,  Miss  Nora,  darlin',"  shouted  the  blacksmith, 
catching  at  her  arm. 

But  he  was  too  late.  The  hissing  point  described  a 
curve  in  the  direction  of  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Jackson's 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         37 

trousers.  A  violent  convulsion  of  the  enclosed  members 
attested  the  accuracy  of  Miss  Normanby's  aim,  and  her 
peals  of  delight  could  be  heard  till  her  long  limbs  had 
carried  her  out  of  sight. 

The  blacksmith  looked  after  her  ruefully. 

"  By  my  sowl,  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
emerging  cashier,  "  ye'll  have  fun  with  that  one  if  ye 
ever  get  her." 

But  Mr.  Jackson's  attention  was  concentrated  on  the 
legs  of  his  trousers. 

"  Bad  scran  to  it,"  he  ejaculated  heartily ;  "  there's 
a  hole  clean  burnt  through.  Couldn't  you  have  caught 
her  hand  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter  about  the  burn,  Mr.  Jackson," 
said  the  blacksmith,  walking  round  him.  "  The  breeches 
is  ruined  without  it.  The  whole  seat  of  them  is  all  cov- 
ered over  with  black  creesh.  Ye  must  have  been  sittin' 
on  the  box  of  an  axle." 

"  So  I  have,"  said  the  cashier,  withdrawing  a  dis- 
colored hand  from  the  part  affected.  "  Well,  confound 
it  anyway.  That  settles  the  trousers  now.  I  might 
have  got  the  burnt  hole  patched.  Do  you  think  I 
could  get  the  grease  taken  off,  Denis?  " 

"  Totally  impossible,"  replied  the  blacksmith,  exam- 
ining the  garments  critically.  "  Your  right  leg  would 
do  for  a  greasy  pole  at  a  Sports.  This  is  an  expensive 
job  for  you,  Mr.  Jackson,  sir." 

"It's  a  d — d  expensive  job,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  with 
emphasis.  "  Just  a  guinea  for  a  new  pair  of  pants, 
and  I'll  never  get  the  coat  and  vest  matched." 

"  An'  then  there's  the  loss  of  the  dog  too,"  said  the 
blacksmith. 

"  Loss  of  the  dog?  The  dog's  not  lost.  Here,  Snap, 
Snap  " —  he  whistled ;  "  there  he  is.  Come  here,  you 
little  brute ! " 

Snap  retired  bashfully  behind  the  anvil  as  Mr.  Jack- 
son aimed  a  mild  kick  at  him. 


38         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Ye  never  dare  be  seen  out  with  him  now,"  said  the 
blacksmith,  "  after  what  Miss  Nora  said.  But  mebbe 
ye  don't  mind  about  Miss  Nora,"  he  added  carelessly. 
"  Of  course  it'd  be  makin'  a  liar  of  me  too.  Ye  heard 
me  takin'  the  blame  on  myself  an'  sayin'  the  dog  was 
mine." 

"  I'm  not  troubling  about  making  you  out  a  liar, 
Denis,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  I  heard  you  tell  Miss 
Normanby  as  many  lies  as  would  fill  a  sack."  He  paused 
a  moment  irresolutely.  "  I  suppose  she  would  be  mad 
with  me  about  the  dog?  " 

"  Ye  heard  her,"  said  the  blacksmith. 

"  Of  all  the  blessed  luck,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  And 
I  meant  the  dog  for  her.  Very  well,  Denis,  you  may 
keep  the  brute.  He's  an  unlucky  devil  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  anyhow." 

"  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  You're  a  gentleman.  Ye  can  depend  on  me  not  to 
say  who  I  got  him  from."  But  Denis's  grin  of  triumph 
was  too  unguarded. 

"  On  second  thoughts,  Denis,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  "  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  make  you  out  a  liar.  You  told  Miss 
Normanby  you  paid  ten  shillings  for  the  dog.  We'll 
just  make  that  part  of  the  story  come  true.  Now  you 
needn't  be  protesting.  You've  humbugged  me  well 
enough  as  it  is.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  your  nonsense 
about  Johnny  here,  the  dog  would  be  mine  still,  and  I'd 
be  a  pair  of  trousers  to  the  good.  Half  a  sovereign,  or 
I'll  drown  him.  Come  on  now.  I  paid  a  guinea  for 
him,  and  a  guinea  for  the  trousers.  Half  a  sovereign's 
little  enough  to  save  out  of  the  wreck." 

"  Bad  luck  to  me,"  said  the  blacksmith,  drawing  the 
required  coin  out  of  his  pocket,  "  if  I  hadn't  winked  at 
Johnny  there,  I  had  him  for  nothing.  Well,  you'll 
stand  a  drink  over  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  surely,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  Where'll  we 
go?" 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         39 

"  We'll  slip  into  Gerahan's  by  the  wee  lane,"  said  the 
blacksmith.  "  It  wouldn't  suit  a  gentleman  like  you 
to  be  seen  going  into  a  pub  in  broad  daylight.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute  or  two,  Johnny." 


CHAPTER  V 

MICHAEL  up  at  the  hotel  may  be  a  bit  hard 
to    stand    at    times,"    said    the    blacksmith, 
setting  down  his   tankard  on  the  table  of 
the  "  snug  "  in  Gerahan's  public-house ;  "  but  it's  well 
worth  while  puttin'  up  with  him  for  the  dhrink  he  keeps. 
Pat  Gerahan  is   a  brave  wee  fellow  enough,  but  his 
draught  stout  is  just  dish-water  compared  to  Michael's. 
An'  as  for  his  whisky  — !  " 

"  Do  you  still  drop  into  Michael's  of  an  evening, 
Denis  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  Ach,  'deed  I  do,"  answered  the  blacksmith.  "  It 
passes  an  hour  or  two  right  well.  An'  blacksmithin'  is 
a  very  dry  job." 

"  I  suppose  there's  always  plenty  of  news  going?  " 
said  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Any  amount  of  it,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  There's 
never  less  than  six  or  eight,  any  night,  an'  what  one 
misses  the  other  hits.  I  tell  ye  there's  not  much  hap- 
pens about  Portnamuck  that  we  haven't  the  first  of." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  about  a  brother  of  Mr.  Nor- 
manby's  that's  supposed  to  have  died  abroad  lately," 
said  Mr.  Jackson  off-handedly.  "  There  was  some  re- 
port of  it  in  the  town." 

"  Do  ye  know  I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  about 
that,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  The  old  fellow  has  been 
puttin'  in  great  inquiries  about  the  brother  this  last 
while.  He  was  at  Finnegan,  the  draper,  about  it,  an' 
Michael  himself,  an'  even  Terry,  the  waiter,  one  day  he 
met  him  in  the  street.  He  wanted  to  make  out  that  the 
brother  had  went  to  Spain ;  but  Terry  still  stuck  to  it 
that  the  last  heard  of  him  was  from  America. 

40 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          41 

"  Would  he  have  made  money  out  there,  do  you  think, 
Mr.  Jackson,  an'  the  old  man  be  on  the  track  of  it  ?  He 
might.  An'  that  minds  me,  now  —  wee  Molly  Dugan 
up  beside  the  post  office  was  tellin'  me  that  this  last 
while  there  has  been  a  heap  of  foreign  letters  for  Mr. 
Normanby.  She  spotted  Joe  the  postman  sortin'  the 
thin  envelopes  into  the  Rectory  bundle  when  she  was  in 
for  stamps.  She  always  be's  there  buyin'  stamps  when 
the  mail-car  comes  in;  an'  troth  it's  wonderful  the  in- 
formation she  picks  up." 

"  And  you  say  his  brother  has  left  him  money  ? " 
interposed  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  I  said  nothin'  of  the  sort,"  answered  the  blacksmith. 
He  looked  sharply  at  the  cashier.  "  Ha !  I  see  what 
you're  after,  Mr.  Jackson.  It's  pumpin'  me  you  are; 
an'  I  expect  you  know  all  about  it  the  whole  time.  You 
Bank  men  has  terrible  noses  for  the  money.  Is  it  much, 
Mr.  Jackson  ?  Tell  me  now.  Ye  needn't  be  afraid  of  it 
goin'  further.  Only  I'd  just  like  to  know  for  curios- 
ity." 

"  I  know  no  more  about  it  than  you  do  yourself, 
Denis,"  protested  Mr.  Jackson.  "  It  was  you  that 
mentioned  money,  not  I." 

"  Ye  needn't  tell  me,"  said  the  blacksmith  knowingly. 
"  You've  got  a  hint  somewhere  or  other,  an'  now  you're 
smellin'  round  tryin'  to  get  information  an'  bone  the 
money  for  the  Bank.  I  see  it  in  your  face  now,  Mr. 
Jackson  " —  and  indeed  the  cashier  was  a  little  out  of 
countenance  at  the  blacksmith's  penetration ;  "  but  never 
mind,  I'd  sooner  give  you  a  lift  than  the  other  people. 
Old  Berryman's  far  too  soapy  for  me,  an'  I  like  the  look 
of  that  new  boss  of  yours.  The  man  for  you  to  tackle 
is  Finnegan,  the  draper.  He's  a  churchwarden  of  Mr. 
Normanby's ;  an'  the  old  man  puts  great  faith  in  him, 
all  on  account  of  the  long  black  melancholy  mug  of  him. 
He  can  go  home  as  solemn-lookin'  as  the  driver  of  a 
hearse,  an'  him  bung-full  of  hot  punch;  an'  because  I 


42         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

still  raise  a  bit  of  a  joke  or  a  lilt  of  a  song  when  I  get 
one  or  two  half-ones,  the  people  about  here  would  nearly 
try  an'  make  me  out  a  drunkard.  Turn  you  up  that 
way,  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  continued,  as  they  emerged  from 
the  back  door,  "  an*  up  the  wee  entry.  It'll  bring  you 
out  just  foment  Finnegan's  shop." 

"  I  say,  Denis,"  said  the  cashier,  turning  back,  "  don't 
mention  my  name  in  connexion  with  the  report." 

"  Mum's  the  word,"  answered  the  blacksmith,  with  a 
wink  intended  to  convey  an  extreme  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. "  I'll  not  give  ye  away.  Mr.  Jackson,"  he 
called,  "  if  ye  hear  nothing  from  old  Finnegan,  try 
Terry  the  waiter.  He  has  all  the  news  of  this  neighbor- 
hood for  the  last  fifty  years.  An'  he  knew  the  old  man's 
brother  well,"  he  added  still  louder,  "  an'  is  sure  to  have 
picked  up  any  news  about  him  that's  goin'." 

He  waved  his  hand  affably  in  answer  to  Mr.  Jackson's 
anguished  appeals  for  silence,  and  pursued  his  way 
thoughtfully  towards  the  forge.  A  sense  of  the  impo- 
tence of  a  single  pint  of  draught  stout  in  the  presence  of 
a  well-developed  thirst  assailed  him  with  increasing  force 
at  each  yard  of  the  way.  Coupled  with  the  curiosity 
aroused  by  his  talk  with  the  cashier  it  was  irresistible. 
At  the  dividing  of  the  ways  the  blacksmith  turned  up 
towards  Michael  Brannegan's  hotel. 

Old  Terry  having  passed  through  his  usual  daily 
stages  of  boots,  ostler,  and  chambermaid,  had  progressed 
as  far  as  that  of  waiter,  and  was,  as  the  blacksmith 
surmised,  engaged  in  preparing  the  smoking-room  for 
its  nightly  parliament.  He  assented  heartily  to  Denis's 
inclusion  of  room-cleaning  in  the  category  of  "  dry  " 
jobs,  and  speedily  brought  forth  two  tankards  of  foam- 
ing porter. 

"  Here's  to  ye,  Terry,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  The 
first  to-day,"  he  added  mendaciously,  as  he  raised  the 
pewter  measure  to  his  lips. 

"  Your  health,  Misther  O'Flaherty,"  responded  Terry 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          43 

heartily,  "  an'  may  the  divil  niver  blow  up  his  fire  for 
ye.  Will  ye  be  round  the  night?  " 

"I  will  that,"  answered  the  blacksmith.  "There'll 
be  great  crack  the  night,  I  believe.  I  hear  there's  a  ter- 
rible sough  in  the  town  about  a  brother  of  Mr.  Nor- 
manby's  that's  dead  in  America.  But  I  suppose  you 
have  it  all  long  ago  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  doubt  but  I  moight  have  the  most  of  it," 
said  Terry  cautiously.  "  But  what  was  it  ye  heard 
yourself  now  ?  " 

"  Och,  sure  ye  know  as  well  as  I  do  myself,  Terry," 
said  the  blacksmith.  "  About  the  brother  havin'  made 
a  lamentable  lot  of  money  in  the  States  —  out  av  a  gold- 
mine, or  somethin'  of  the  sort,  and  him  leavin'  the  whole 
of  it  to  our  man  here.  Now  ye  needn't  be  puttin'  me 
off.  Wasn't  old  Mr.  Normanby  round  two  or  three 
times  with  ye  about  it?  I  suppose  ye  could  tell  the 
amount  to  a  halfpenny  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  could  not  thin,"  answered  Terry.  "  The 
ould  man  was  as  close  as  a  limpet  about  it.  He  ques- 
tioned me  up  an'  down  about  the  brother,  Masther 
Lawrence  that  was,  an'  what  port  he  went  to,  an'  what 
word  there  was  from  him  afther  he  left,  an'  how  long 
ago  it  was  since  he  was  heard  of ;  but  the  sorrow  a  bit  of 
me  could  make  out  what  he  was  afther,  an'  I  pumpin' 
him  all  the  time.  Ye  might  as  well  have  thried  to  open 
an  oysther  wid  an  electhroplated  fork  —  an'  the  divil  a 
more  onsuitable  implement  for  the  purpose  do  I  know. 
He  was  undher  a  strict  promise  of  secrecy,  he  said,  an' 
troth,  for  the  bewildhered  ould  dhreamer  that  he  is,  he 
kept  it  wondherful. 

"  But  all  I  could  tell  him  —  an'  I  thried  him  wi'  truth 
an'  lies  —  I  couldn't  seem  to  satisfy  him.  He  wasn't 
right  plazed  with  Masther  Lawrence  bein'  in  Calfornia, 
though  'twas  there  the  boy  went  to  right  enough.  Nor 
he  liked  it  no  betther  whin  I  took  him  two  or  three  other 
places  round  the  States ;  an'  I'd  ha'  taken  him  to  the 


44-         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Islands  of  the  Blest  if  I'd  thought  it'd  ha'  been  any  sat- 
isfaction to  the  old  fellow;  but  troth,  Masther  O'Fla- 
herty,  if  he's  dead  an'  gone,  it's  not  the  same  spot  that 
Masther  Lawrence  is  in  this  minit. 

"  An'  do  ye  know  all  the  time  it  nivcr  come  into  me 
thick  head  what  he  was  afther.  If  I'd  had  as  much 
brains  as  a  hen  could  hold  in  her  shut  fist  I'd  have 
known  it  was  money ;  for  all  his  talk  was  wearin'  round 
to  where  the  brother  died,  an'  whin  he  died;  an'  that 
should  ha'  put  me  on  the  track." 

"  I  wouldn't  fault  ye  for  that,  Terry,"  said  the  black- 
smith. "  There's  two  reasons  for  askin'  about  the  death 
of  your  friends.  The  one  is  whether  you're  likely  to 
get  anythin',  an'  the  other  is  to  make  sure  there's  no 
danger  of  them  comin'  back." 

"  An'  troth  'twas  the  second  av  the  same  reasons  was 
likely  to  be  in  the  minds  av  Masther  Lawrence's  friends 
thin,"  said  Terry ;  "  for  he  was  a  divil's  imp  if  iver  there 
was  one.  An'  if  he  died  worth  money  'twas  through 
robbin'  some  dacent  man,  or  maybe,  God  knows,  a 
church.  But  do  ye  say  he  has  left  a  fortune?  " 

"  Millions,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  Of  course,"  he 
added,  "  it  may  only  be  dollars.  But  even  when  ye 
divide  millions  by  five  there's  a  deal  left." 

"  The  saints  deliver  us !  "  ej  aculated  Terry.  "  Who 
have  ye  it  from  ?  " 

"  Now  it's  from  the  stable,"  said  Denis.  He  drank 
the  balance  of  his  porter  leisurely,  enjoying  Terry's 
goggle-eyed  curiosity  with  the  tail  of  his  eye. 

"  I  got  it  from  one  of  the  Bank  men,  Terry." 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Terry.  "  I  seen  ye  goin'  down  the 
back  av  the  houses  with  Misther  Jackson  a  half  an  hour 
ago.  'Twas  him  told  ye." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  not  at  all,"  said  the  blacksmith  hastily. 
"  Mr.  Jackson  knows  nothin'  about  it.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Terry  —  between  you  an'  me  —  it  was  the  cashier 
in  the  other  Bank  told  me." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          45 

"  Was  it  so?  "  said  Terry.  "  Well,  be  me  sowl  if  it 
comes  to  ould  Berryman's  ears  about  him  blabbin'  it's 
the  same  young  gentleman'll  be  sorry.  For  if  Jackson 
gets  wind  of  the  money  he'll  be  on  it  like  a  trout  on  a 
Mayfly.  Maybe  he's  on  the  thrack  av  it  already.  He's 
been  makin'  up  to  Miss  Nora  powerful  lately.  Anyway 
if  ye  got  the  news  from  the  Bank  it's  correct 

"  I'm  sayin',  Denis,"  cried  Terry,  slapping  his  thigh. 

"Aye?  "  said  the  blacksmith,  startled. 

"  D'ye  moind  the  Jew  man  I  told  ye  about  a  month 
ago,  the  wee  morsel  av  misery  that  looked  as  if  he'd 
been  atin'  crickets,  an'  devoured  as  much  flesh  mate  as 
would  ha'  fed  a  pack  av  hounds." 

"  Him  that  tipped  ye  the  sovereign  when  he  was  goin' 
away,"  said  the  blacksmith  maliciously. 

"  He  was  askin'  me  a  heap  av  questions  about  ould 
Misther  Normanby  here,"  said  Terry  eagerly,  not  heed- 
ing the  remark.  "  Up  an'  down  he  questioned  me  about 
him,  an'  had  he  friends  abroad,  an'  the  names  av  thim. 
Bedambut  now,  Denis,  would  he  be  a  lawyer  from  the 
States?" 

"  By  the  hokey,  Terry,"  cried  the  blacksmith,  jump- 
ing up  in  great  excitement,  "  ye  have  hit  it !  That's 
who  he  was '• 

"  Terry,"  he  said,  breaking  off,  "  bedad  there's  Mr. 
Jackson  comin'  down  the  road,  an'  he  mustn't  see  me 
in  here  in  the  daytime.  If  he's  speakin'  to  ye  don't  let 
on  ye  were  talkin'  to  me.  An'  don't  say  a  word  in  the 
room  to-night  till  I  get  round."  And  the  blacksmith 
bolted  hastily  out  by  the  side  door,  and  made  for  his 
forge,  eager  to  finish  his  day's  work  and  begin  the  far 
more  congenial  task  of  passing  round  the  unusually 
choice  tit-bit  of  gossip,  fully  persuaded  of  the  truth  of 
it,  and  quite  unconscious  of  having  humbugged  not  only 
Terry  the  waiter,  but  also  Mr.  Denis  O'Flaherty. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MR.  JACKSON'S   interview  with  the  draper 
had  not  been  fruitful. 
Warned  by  his  disaster  with  the  black- 
smith he  had  begun  his  inquiry  with  such  an  exaggerated 
degree  of  caution  that  Mr.  Finnegan  had  entirely  failed 
to  grasp  the  drift  of  his  hints,  and  fully  persuaded  that 
the  cashier  had  merely  dropped  in  to  enjoy  a  little 
oratory,  was  soon  in  full  spate. 

The  inevitable  dissertation  on  "  the  unexampled  suc- 
cess of  our  up-to-date  business  methods  "  was  expanded 
by  illustrations  drawn  from  a  walk  round  "  our  various 
departments."  Mr.  Jackson  passed  with  increasing 
temperature  of  countenance  from  "  our  summer  goods," 
where  he  received,  rather  shamefacedly,  a  demonstration 
of  the  latest  thing  in  bathing  costumes  from  a  young 
lady  little  less  abashed  than  himself,  to  "  our  blouse 
department,"  where  the  stolidity  of  the  attendant  en- 
abled him  to  recover  some  confidence.  But  an  an- 
guished passage  round  an  angle  stacked  with  corsets, 
which  Mr.  Finnegan  woidd  not  ignore,  brought  the 
perspiration  out  on  him;  and  when  the  draper,  with  a 
hardihood  bred  of  long  familiarity,  landed  him  plump 
into  the  most  embarrassing  section  of  "  our  white 
goods,"  Mr.  Jackson  made  wildly  for  the  door,  pursued 
by  feminine  tittering  and  the  consciousness  that  his  ad- 
venture would  be  all  over  the  town  before  night. 

Safely  outside  the  dreadful  precincts  of  the  shop  he 
renewed  his  campaign,  but  with  no  better  success.  The 
introduction  of  Mr.  Normanby's  name  brought  forth  a 
deprecatory  laudation  of  Mr.  Finnegan's  excellences  as 

46 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          47 

a  churchwarden,  with  a  detailed  account  of  how  he  had 
recently  repelled  an  attempt  to  promote  ritualism  in  the 
parish,  and  a  rhetorical  peroration  on  the  advances  of 
the  Scarlet  Lady,  who,  if  Mr.  Finnegan  might  say  so, 
was  not  being  sufficiently  kept  under  observation  these 
latter  days. 

The  utmost  Mr.  Jackson  could  extract  without  direct 
interrogation  was  that  Mr.  Normanby  had  been  making 
inquiry  into  the  history  of  a  member  of  the  family, 
whose  doings,  if  Mr.  Finnegan  dare  put  it  in  that  way, 
had  best  be  buried  in  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 

But  if  the  cashier  had  wasted  his  time  with  Mr.  Fin- 
negan he  had  no  such  complaint  to  make  of  Terry. 

Going  through  the  hotel  bar  he  spent  ten  minutes  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  penetrate  Michael's  Delphic  reserve,  but 
desisted  before  the  landlord  had  seemingly  grasped  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Jackson  was  having  the  impudence  to  try 
to  pump  him.  The  ten  minutes  were  invaluable  to 
Terry. 

Terry's  brain,  whatever  it  may  have  been  in  its  pre- 
porter  days,  was  not  at  the  time  of  this  history  particu- 
larly fertile  in  original  ideas ;  and  his  observation  was 
somewhat  decayed.  But  for  embroidery  on  a  hint  he 
was  unexampled  in  Ireland. 

A  whole  drama  developed  before  the  fascinated  cash- 
ier. The  arrival  of  the  stranger,  at  first  barely  noticed 
— "  For  to  tell  ye  the  Gawd's  truth,  Misther  Jackson, 
at  the  beginnin'  I  just  took  him  for  wan  av  thim  Jew 
men  that  does  be  goin'  about  suckin'  the  blood  out  av 
poor  people  like  clegs  in  the  worm  month  " —  attention 
first  drawn  to  him  by  the  bundles  of  papers  he  kept 
drawing  from  his  "  shiny,  wee  black  bag." — "  Dhat 
thick,  creeshy-lookin*  paper  that  them  fellows  does  be 
writin'  on,  I  suppose  because  they  can  charge  more  for 
it."  This,  and  a  "  ferrety,  lawyer-lookin'  counte- 
nance," that  Terry  recognized  but  couldn't  just  put  into 
words.  "  *  But  me  foine  fellow,'  sez  I,  '  if  you're  not 


48         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

an  attorney,  me  name's  not  Flanagan.'  An'  wasn't  it 
sharp  av  me,  too,  Misther  Jackson,  an'  him  an  American 
attorney.  But  thim  fellows  all  has  the  wan  look,  just 
like  weasels. 

"  An'  whin  I  had  made  out  that  much,  '  Now,'  sez  I 
to  meself,  'what  are  ye  here  for?  For  if  ye're  afther 
some  dacent  man  wid  the  law  it's  meself'll  give  him  the 
office,  an'  lave  ye  sittin'  on  your  —  your  behind.'  And 
whin  he  begin  askin'  his  questions,  I  knowed  where  I 
was.  '  It's  a  legacy,'  sez  I.  '  It's  a  legacy.  Now  who 
the  divil  would  it  be  for?  ' 

"  It  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  the  length  av  Misther 
Normanby,  for  whin  a  man's  out  lookin'  for  information 
if  he  wanted  to  go  from  the  parlor  here  to  the  bar  he'd 
go  round  by  Denis  the  blacksmith's  shop.  Ye  know, 
Misther  Jackson  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson  consciously. 

"  But  directly  he  mentioned  Misther  Normanby  and 
the  brother  Lawrence,  '  I  have  it,'  sez  I,  '  I  have  it. 
The  brother's  dead  an'  has  left  him  a  fortune.'  An' 
right  enough,  so  it  was." 

"  Did  the  lawyer  tell  you  that,  Terry  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Jackson  eagerly. 

"  He  did  not  then,"  answered  Terry,  with  a  wink  in- 
tended to  convey  the  great  sagacity  of  the  American 
attorney.  "  Whin  he  seen  what  I  was  afther  he  drew  in 
his  horns  moighty  quick.  Very  civil  and  cool  he  was 
with  me  from  that  till  he  left,  an'  the  divil  a  ha'penny  he 
give  me  goin'.  He  knowed  I'd  pumped  him  to  his  face, 
and  him  a  Yankee  at  that,  and  he  was  badly  pleased 
about  it." . 

"But  how  do  you  know  about  the  legacy,  Terry?" 
asked  Mr.  Jackson. 

Terry  paused  for  a  moment,  then  leant  forward  to 
Mr.  Jackson's  ear. 

"  I  have  it  from  Misther  Berryman's  clerk  below,  no 
less.  He  come  here  pumpin'  me  like  it  might  be  your- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         49 

self."  Mr.  Jackson  turned  red.  "  But  he's  not  as  fly 
as  you  are,  Misther  Jackson;  and  he  with  Misther 
Berryman  so  long  itself,  and  I  had  the  whole  thing  out 
of  him  in  a  twinklin'.  '  I'll  swap  news  wid  ye,'  sez  I, 
when  he  come  at  me  about  the  lawyer.  '  How  much 
money  will  there  be  ?  ' 

"  '  I  hear  a  million,'  says  he  in  a  half-whisper,  lanin' 
over  to  me  like  I  might  to  yourself  here. 

*'  *  The  Saints  take  care  av  us ! '  sez  I. 

"  *  Av  dollars,'  sez  he,  '  only.' 

" '  But  sure,'  sez  I  to  myself,  '  that's  two  hundhred 
thousand  pounds.' ' 

Whereupon,  appalled  by  the  magnitude  of  the  sum, 
Terry  had  resolved  to  maintain  strict  secrecy  till  he 
had  obtained  confirmation,  and  had  thrown  dust  in  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Berryman's  clerk,  and  persuaded  him  there 
was  nothing  in  the  story.  But  when  his  conversations 
with  Mr.  Normanby  had  convinced  him  of  its  truth  he 
resolved  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Jackson  at  the  first 
possible  opportunity,  so  that  Mr.  Jackson's  Bank  might 
get  their  hands  on  the  money.  For,  God  knew,  they 
were  the  decentest  Bank  of  the  two ;  and  he  would  rather 
do  Mr.  Jackson  a  good  turn  any  day  than  that  old 
serpent  Berryman,  and  thank  Mr.  Jackson  very  much 
he  would  take  a  pint  of  porter,  for  he  was  as  dry  as  a 
whistle  and  hadn't  lipped  drink  that  day. 

Before  Terry's  nose  had  emerged  from  the  pot  of 
porter,  Mr.  Jackson  was  well  on  his  way  to  the  Bank, 
fairly  bursting  with  news. 

The  door  was  opened  to  him  by  Jane,  the  manager's 
housekeeper  and  general  servant,  an  old  retainer  who 
had  watched  over  her  Master  Anthony's  infant  career 
as  nursemaid,  and  after  an  interregnum  of  unfortunate 
marriage,  widowhood,  and  letting  of  lodgings,  had  as- 
sumed control  of  his  middle  age  with  increased  autoc- 
racy of  spirit. 

Jane  was  one  of  those  devoted  housewives  who,  being 


50         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

wholly  intent  on  keeping  her  house  scrupulously  clean 
and  neat,  was  generally  herself  very  untidy  and  dirty. 
A  perpetual  black  smear  on  her  forehead  was  closely 
connected  with  a  lock  of  hair  that  continually  fell  across 
her  eyes  and  required  to  be  continually  adjusted.  Even 
her  Sunday  face  never  wanted  it.  Only  a  close  observer 
of  form  could  have  told  that  it  was  not  the  smear  of  the 
last  time  he  had  seen  her  before,  or  of  twelve  months 
ago.  Unfortunately  for  Jane  her  husband  was  a  man 
of  aesthetic  sensibilities,  and  ran  away  from  home  for 
good  after  the  first  clear  revelation  of  the  domestic  Jane 
as  distinct  from  the  Jane  of  courtship.  The  manager, 
partly  from  use  and  wont,  and  partly  because  he  was  a 
philosopher  and  recognized  that  beauty  is  only  for  a 
day,  while  a  good  cook  lasts  for  a  lifetime,  was  unmoved 
by  her  appearance  and  only  too  glad  to  secure  her  for 
a  housekeeper;  and  Jane  had  remained  with  him 
since  the  date  of  her  domestic  calamity,  although  she 
had  been  set  free  for  a  second  venture  by  the  death  of 
the  fastidious  wanderer. 

Her  unlucky  experience  with  one  man  had  not  at  all 
soured  her  with  the  sex.  Her  Master  Anthony  she 
regarded  as  little  short  of  perfect,  and  any  good-looking 
young  fellow  such  as  Mr.  Jackson  was  sure  of  her  favor. 

She  opened  the  door  to  him  in  a  state  of  great  ex- 
citement. 

"Is  that  you,  sir?"  she  said.  "  Come  on  in.  The 
master'll  be  delighted.  He's  in  the  great  feather  with 
himself,  clean  leppin'  out  of  his  skin.  His  ould  Uncle 
Joseph  died  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  the  word's 
just  in  by  this  evenin's  post. —  Aye,  I  think  he  left  him 
money.  Who  else  would  he  leave  it  till?  Come  on  up 
to  the  sittin'-room.  The  master's  sittin'  there  by  him- 
self with  a  bottle  of  champagne  wine  before  him  wishin' 
he  was  in  Belfast  till  he'd  get  some  of  his  chums  in  to 
drink  it  and  wish  him  luck.  Watch  the  bucket ;  I  was 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          51 

just  givin'  the  hall  a  wee  wash  —  step  on  the  mats.  Do 
you  wish  him  luck  when  you  go  in.  It'll  please  him. 

"  Here's  Mr.  Jackson,  Master  Anthony,"  called  Jane 
as  she  opened  the  door.  "  Go  on  now,  Mr.  Jackson," 
she  whispered,  nudging  him  in  the  ribs  with  her  elbow 
as  he  passed  her. 

She  listened  with  a  broad  grin  of  satisfaction  to  the 
cashier's  hearty  congratulations  of  his  manager  before 
closing  the  door,  and  then  descended  to  the  washing  of 
the  hall  with  fresh  vigor. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SIX  thousand  pounds,"  said  the  manager.  "  Take 
another  little  drop  of  fizz.  It's  a  tidy  little  sum, 
Jackson,  eh?" 

"  You're  jolly  lucky,  sir,"  said  the  cashier.  He 
sighed.  "  I  envy  you." 

"  I  know  what  you're  thinking  of,  Jackson,  my  boy," 
said  the  manager.  "  If  I  were  ten  years  younger  I'd 
be  thinking  of  the  same  thing.  But  it's  come  too  late. 
That's  how  the  world  goes.  When  you're  a  faded  old 
bachelor  like  me  somebody'll  likely  leave  you  money  too." 

"  Oh,  come,  sir,"  protested  Jackson.  "  You're  not 
so  old  as  all  that." 

"  Thirty-eight  the  day  before  yesterday,"  sighed  the 
manager.  "  Too  old  for  sentiment.  And  my  hair's 
going  too.  Do  you  see  that  little  peninsula  jutting  out 
into  my  forehead?  There  were  sixty-five  hairs  in  it  a 
month  ago ;  now  there  are  only  fifty-nine.  I'll  be  as 
bald  as  a  coot  in  a  year's  time.  Picture  to  yourself  a 
fly  lighting  on  my  shining  cranium  just  as  I  dropped  on 
my  knees  to  a  girl.  No,  Jackson,  my  dear  fellow.  Too 
late.  '  Talk  not  to  me  of  romance,  I  wear  flannel,' 
somebody  has  said.  It  sums  up  the  situation  as  far  as 
I'm  concerned.  It's  all  up  with  me.  I'm  doomed  to  be 
a  lonely  old  bachelor  all  my  days.  '  Similis  factus  sum 
pellicano  solitudinis,  sicut  nycticorax  in  domicilio.'  '  I 
am  like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness,  like  an  owl  of  the 
desert,'  or  as  Miles  Coverdale  more  strikingly  renders 
it, '  like  an  owl  in  a  broken  wall.'  And  in  the  end,"  said 
the  manager,  somberly  pouring  himself  out  a  fourth 
glass  of  champagne,  "  I  suppose  I'll  die  in  a  nursing- 
home." 

52 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          53 

Mr.  Jackson  looked  discreetly  sympathetic,  but  did 
not  venture  on  a  remark. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  manager,  "  I'll  always  have  my 
books." 

"  And  a  jolly  lot  of  them  you  have,  sir,"  said  Jack- 
son, looking  round  the  room. 

"  Too  many,"  answered  the  manager  moodily.  "  I'd 
been  married  long  ago  but  for  my  unfortunate  taste  for 
them.  I  was  as  good  as  engaged  to  a  girl  once  —  a 
feather-headed  little  thing  she  was,  but  pretty.  Gad," 
said  the  manager,  brightening  up,  "  she  was  as  pretty 
as  a  fairy." 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  sir  ?  "  asked  Jackson  anx- 
iously. 

"  I  told  her  the  truth,"  said  the  manager,  relapsing 
into  gloom,  "  a  most  indiscreet  thing  to  do  when  you're 
courting.  They  find  out  the  truth  about  us  time 
enough.  I  told  her  I'd  like  to  be  married  if  it  was  only 
to  have  a  home  for  my  books.  It  was  a  jolly  good  job 
anyhow;  the  last  time  I  saw  her  she  was  eleven  stone 
if  she  was  an  ounce.  I've  never  had  any  confidence  in 
the  future  of  a  girl's  figure  since. 

"  Then  I  fell  out  with  one  of  the  nicest  girls  I  ever 
had  because  she  didn't  like  *  Martin  Chuzzlewit.'  I 
thought  I  couldn't  love  a  girl  who  didn't  like  *  Martin 
Chuzzlewit.' 

"  I  was  wrong,  too,"  continued  the  manager.  "  I 
read  '  Martin  Chuzzlewit '  five  years  later,  and  found  I 
had  changed  my  mind  about  it." 

"And  did  you  not  go  to  the  girl,  sir?"  asked  Mr. 
Jackson. 

"  I  did,"  answered  the  manager  mournfully.  "  But 
when  I  saw  the  girl  I  found  I  had  changed  my  mind 
about  her  too." 

"  Maybe  if  you'd  married  her  five  years  before  you 
wouldn't  have  changed  your  mind,"  said  Jackson,  hold- 
ing on  desperately  to  romance. 


54         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Maybe  not,"  acquiesced  his  chief.  "  But  at  my  age 
one  sees  the  risk.  A  youngster  like  you  rushes  blindly 
into  matrimony,  but  we  old  fellows  look  before  and  after. 
But  don't  listen  to  my  words  of  wisdom,  my  dear  Jack- 
son. Miss  Nora's  a  very  pretty  girl.  Here's  to  her 
very  good  health.  Take  another  little  drop  of  fizz. 
By  the  way,"  said  the  manager  suddenly,  "  am  I  misled 
by  the  combined  effects  of  Plutus,  represented  by  my 
uncle's  six  thousand  pounds,  and  Bacchus  in  the  shape 
of  four  glasses  —  wait  till  I  make  it  five  —  of  excellent 
champagne,  or  did  I  send  you  out  to  ascertain  the  truth 
about  your  prospective  father-in-law's  fortune?" 

The  manager  listened  to  Mr.  Jackson's  recital  with 
judicial  gravity. 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  about  the  fortune,  sir," 
concluded  Jackson,  "  if  we  only  could  make  sure  of  the 
amount.  It's  a  pity  we  hadn't  all  this  information  when 
Mr.  Normanby  called  to-day.  Would  you  think  of  writ- 
ing him  to-morrow  to  say  he  could  have  any  advance  he 
might  require?  I  think  it  would  be  judicious,  sir." 

The  manager  remained  in  deep  thought  for  some 
moments. 

"  I  have  been  holding  communion  with  five  glasses  of 
champagne,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  he  at  length.  "  The 
first  four  are  very  much  of  your  opinion,  and  the  fifth  is 
quite  enthusiastic  about  it.  That's  good  so  far  as  it 
goes.  But  I  haven't  any  great  degree  of  confidence  in 
the  opinion  of  a  glass  of  champagne ;  and  the  whole  fam- 
ily after  the  fourth  are  little  better  than  fools. 

"  So  I  think  we'll  leave  the  matter  over  till  the  morn- 
ing; and  you  and  I  will  slip  away  to  some  place  where 
there  isn't  any  champagne  —  say  the  office  below  — 
and  we'll  talk  it  over  by  ourselves.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  the  ancient  Germans,  Mr.  Jackson?"  inquired  the 
manager. 

"  I  never  heard  much  about  the  Germans  at  all,"  an- 
swered the  cashier,  "  before  the  present  Emperor." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          55 

"  Well,  the  ancient  Germans 

"  Look  here,  Jackson,  my  boy,"  said  the  manager, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  regarding  his  cashier  be- 
nevolently. "  I'm  going  to  provide  you  with  a  beacon- 
light  for  our  future  intercourse:  when  I  begin  to  quote 
from  the  classics  take  the  bottle  away  from  me.  The 
occasion  won't  often  arise.  Many  years  ago  I  prom- 
ised a  very  decent  young  fellow  —  one  Anthony  Wild- 
ridge,  a  bank  clerk  —  that  I'd  never  drink  any  intoxi- 
cant but  champagne ;  and  that,  Mr.  Jackson,  is  coming 
as  near  teetotalism  for  a  bank  clerk  as  one  can  very  well 
get.  But,  whenever  I  do  lapse,  in  the  interests  of  dis- 
cipline, —  which  is  at  present  suffering  damnably  — 
bear  in  mind  what  I  say.  If  you  had  removed  the  bot- 
tle about  ten  minutes  ago,  about  the  time  of  that  pelican 
in  the  wilderness  of  which  I  was  speaking,  I  wouldn't 
be  inflicting  the  ancient  Germans  on  you  now. 

"  The  ancient  Germans,  Mr.  Jackson,"  went  on  the 
manager,  recovering  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  "  were 
of  the  opinion  that  the  ordinary  man  in  the  street  — 
or,  as  they  would  doubtless  have  said,  in  the  woods,  has 
a  deal  more  sense  when  he's  drunk  than  when  he's  sober ; 
and  so  they  used  to  debate  any  serious  matter  in  both 
conditions. 

"  But  drunk,"  said  the  manager,  "  it's  my  opinion 
that  the  aged  Terence  is  no  better  than  a  false  witness, 
and  that  I  should  part  with  no  money  till  the  story  is 
confirmed;  and  I'll  be  very  much  surprised  if  I'm  any 
more  enthusiastic  about  it  in  the  morning.  I  know  the 
frame  of  mind  I'll  be  in  to-morrow  morning.  When 
you  become  a  manager,  Mr.  Jackson,  and  have  a  request 
for  an  overdraft  placed  before  you,  if  you  wish  to  at- 
tain a  reputation  with  your  directors  for  caution  and 
sagacity,  consider  the  question  on  the  morning  after  a 
champagne  night.  If  you  have  a  stomach  like  mine 
you'll  not  err  on  the  side  of  rashness. 

"  Now  with  regard  to  the  business  on  hand  —  how  do 


56         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

you  stand  with  Miss  Normanby?  If  your  relations 
with  her  haven't  advanced  beyond  the  point  when  it 
would  be  mean  or  indelicate  of  you  to  attempt  to  pump 
her,  in  my  present  state  of  judgment  that  seems  to  be 
the  quarter  for  information.  If  it's  only  a  matter  of 
acquaintanceship  between  you,  or  even  flirtation,  I  see 
nothing  to  hinder  you  sounding  her  cautiously.  But, 
of  course,  if  it's  what  a  misguided  young  fellow  like  you 
would  call  love " 

The  manager  raised  his  right  eyebrow  and  blinked 
across  inquiringly  at  his  junior. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,  sir,"  said  Jackson,  "  I'm  not 
just  exactly  sure  how  we  stand." 

"  That's  interesting,"  said  the  manager,  brightening 
up.  "  That's  decidedly  interesting.  Look  here  now, 
Jackson,  my  boy.  I'm  a  veteran,  retired  from  the 
game,  a  looker-on.  But  I've  had  some  experience  in  my 
time.  Not  an  ounce  of  romance  left  in  me.  Just  calm 
disillusioned  judgment.  Now  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
We'll  open  another  bottle  of  champagne  —  that's  a 
clear  duty ;  I  drank  the  last  three  glasses,  and  never  at- 
tended to  my  uncle's  memory  at  all  —  you'll  put  the 
circumstances  of  your  unfortunate  case  before  me,  and 
I'll  place  the  ripe  experience  of,  let  me  see,  I  began 
about  thirteen  —  thirteen  from  thirty-eight  —  of  twen- 
ty-five years  at  your  disposal.  What  do  you  say 
now  ?  " 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  Jackson  apologetically,  "  we'll 
not  need  to  open  the  second  bottle." 

"  Well,  just  a  small  one  then,"  said  the  manager, 
dexterously  nipping  the  wire. 

"  Come  on  now.  You  give  me  the  facts  and  I'll  tell 
you  where  you  stand,  to  a  hair's-breadth.  First  of  all  as 
to  your  own  position  ;  of  course  you're  in  love  with  Miss 
Normanby.  Don't  turn  so  red,  Jackson,  it's  not  only 
not  unusual,  it's  inevitable.  At  your  age  a  young  fel- 
low is  just  a  well-spring  of  pure  affection  if  he's  been 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          57 

anyway  well  brought  up.  The  only  possible  chance  of 
his  escaping  love  and  early  matrimony  is  for  him  to  dis- 
tribute his  affection  fairly  widely,  say  among  three  or 
four,  and  that  in  your  case  is  impossible.  In  a  merely 
academic  way  I've  been  inquiring  into  the  matter,  and  I 
find  that  Miss  Nora  is  the  only  really  presentable-look- 
ing girl  in  the  town. 

"  You  know,  Jackson,  my  son,"  continued  the  mana- 
ger, setting  down  his  champagne-glass  after  a  linger- 
ing interview  with  it,  "  until  a  bank  clerk  is  thirty  it's 
positively  sinful  to  send  him  to  a  country  town  of  under 
two  thousand  in  population.  After  years  of  patient  re- 
search into  the  subject  I  have  figured  it  out  that  the  pro- 
portion of  physically  attractive  girls  in  the  upper  mid- 
dle classes  is  as  one  to  five  hundred  of  the  whole  popu- 
lation. In  a  town  of  two  thousand  inhabitants  your 
bank  clerk  has  the  possible  four  pretty  girls  to  squander 
his  affections  among,  which  is  sufficient  to  prevent  his 
bestowing  on  any  individual  girl  what  you  might  call  a 
matrimonial  share.  Observe  your  misfortune:  we're 
just  about  one  hundred  people  short  of  the  two-girl  fig- 
ure in  this  town.  The  second  might  arrive  at  any  mo- 
ment. But  in  the  meantime  there's  only  one ;  and 
you're  in  love  with  her,  and  before  the  second  comes  on 
the  scene  will  probably  be  engaged. 

"  You  will  notice  that  I  eliminate  entirely  the  summer 
visitor  girl,  from  her  very  quantity  utterly  negligible; 
a  mere  ephemera ;  the  resident  damsel's  best  asset  in 
fact.  The  season  is  over,  the  summer  ended,  the  inevit- 
able blank  comes.  The  young  man's  affections,  stimu- 
lated by  all  these  transitory  creatures,  concentrate  on 
the  one  permanent  girl  about  October ;  and  he's  as  good 
as  done  for.  I  should  say  you  fell  in  love  with  Miss 
Normanby  about  —  let  me  see  now,  the  season  here  runs 
to  the  middle  of  September  —  the  first  of  October. 
Eh?" 

"  I  took  an  awful  fancy  for  her  the  first  time  I  ever 


58         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

saw  her,"  said  Jackson  with  enthusiasm.  "  Wait  till 
you  meet  her  yourself,  sir." 

"  No  danger,  my  dear  boy,"  returned  the  manager. 
"  I'm  an  icicle,  an  extinct  volcano.  Not  that  I  hadn't 
my  little  weaknesses  in  that  line,"  he  went  on  compla- 
cently. "  I  can  look  back  on  them  now  that  I've  out- 
grown them,  as  Horace  —  confound  Horace,  that's 
opening  a  second  bottle  of  fizz  —  but  you  know  what  he 
says :  '  Nee  lusisse  pudet  .  .  .*  'I  can  lick  my  lips,' 
says  he,  '  over  my  little  sprees,  now  that  I  know  I've 
learned  sense.'  I'm  safe  from  the  infection  now.  But 
to  return  to  your  affair.  How  do  you  stand  with  the 
lady  ?  Have  you  declared  your  passion,  as  they  used  to 
put  it  in  the  novels  of  my  callow  taste,  or  do  you  still 
sigh  in  silence?  Look  here,  my  boy,"  cried  the  mana- 
ger, breaking  in  on  himself,  "  don't  look  so  woebegone. 
Here,  begad,  we'll  split  the  tail-end  of  the  bottle.  Come 
now,  report  progress." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  sir,"  stammered  Jackson,  "  she 
and  I  are  awfully  thick,  downright  good  chums,  and  all 
that ;  but  if  I  mention  sentiment  at  all  she  just  laughs  at 
me." 

"  That's  no  new  experience,"  returned  the  manager, 
"  and  by  no  means  an  unhopeful  one.  Look  now,  Jack- 
son, lay  hands  on  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  kick  the 
manager  who  has  been  placed  in  authority  over  you  if 
he  ever  mentions  Horace  again,  but  just  for  this  once 
let  me  refer  you  to  the  fifth  ode  of  the  second  book.  He 
must  have  been  thinking  proleptically  —  the  figure," 
said  the  manager,  with  a  slight  hiccup,  "  is  called  pro- 
lepsis  or  anticipation  —  of  your  case : 

"  '  Circa  virentes  est  animus  tuce 

Campos  juvencce,'  and  so  on ;  '  jam  te  sequetur.' 

*  Don't  mind  if  your  sweetheart  is  inclined  to  play  the 
giddy  garden  goat  at  present,'  says  he,  or  words  to  that 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         59 

effect ;  *  when  she  takes  seriously  to  courting  you'll  be 
tired  of  it  before  she  will.' 

"  The  whole  passage  is  tinged  with  Roman  coarse- 
ness, Mr.  Jackson,  I  regret  to  say ;  and  the  figure  of  a 
heifer  does  not  commend  itself  to  our  modern  taste. 
Burns  has  the  same  thought  much  more  charmingly  in 
'My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet ' ;  but  one  should  never 
quote  Burns  on  anything  but  whisky.  Champagne's  all 
right  for  a  dilettante  like  Horace ;  but  Burns  demands 
the  real  stuff  in  love  and  drink. 

"  But  we  seem  to  be  drifting  away  again  from  the 
matter  in  hand.  Take  an  old  fellow's  advice,  my  son," 
said  the  manager  solemnly,  "  and  don't  wish  for  your 
sweetheart  to  be  sentimental.  A  sentimental  sweet- 
heart at  seventeen  is  a  confoundedly  jealous  wife  at 
forty.  And  don't  be  too  sentimental  yourself.  A  lit- 
tle calf-love  —  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  get  away  from 
the  farmyard  simile  —  and  a  boy  and  girl  kiss  or  two. 
By  the  way "  —  the  manager  looked  a  little  archly 
across  the  table  — "  have  you  ever ?  " 

"  I  never  got  the  chance,  sir,"  answered  Jackson. 

*'  One  seldom  gets  the  chance,  Mr.  Jackson,"  returned 
the  manager ;  "  it's  generally  a  question  of  making 
one.  But  didn't  you  say  something  one  day  about  leav- 
ing certain  persons  home  by  that  delightfully  shady  by- 
path to  the  Rectory  known  as  '  Sweethearts'  Lane  '  ?  " 

"  Just  a  couple  of  times,  sir,"  said  Jackson  hastily. 

"  It  looks  remarkably  like  two  opportunities,"  re- 
turned the  manager,  "  remarkably  like.  About  dusk,  I 
think  you  said  ?  " 

"  Only  one  of  the  times,  sir,"  protested  Jackson. 

"  I  may  be  wronging  the  young  lady,"  said  the  man- 
ager, "  but  in  my  opinion  the  girl  who  walked  up  that 
lane  at  dusk  with  a  young  man  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  kissed.  I  don't  say  she  would 
have  let  you,  mind ;  but  I  rather  think  she  would  be  sur- 
prised that  you  didn't  try." 


60         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"But,"  objected  Jackson  ruefully,  "she  might  have 
been  wild  at  me  if  I  had  tried." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  the  manager ;  "  but  better  so 
than  that  she  should  be  disappointed  with  you  for  not 
trying.  And  you  would  at  any  rate  know  where  you 
were.  You  know  the  excellent  golf  maxim  about  put- 
ting: '  Never  up,  never  in.*  You  might  do  worse  than 
apply  it  to  your  courting. 

"  However,  I  don't  think  you're  a  very  bad  case  yet. 
If  you  were  you'd  have  kicked  me  out  of  the  window 
long  ago.  I  will  consult  Anthony  Wildridge  and  cold 
water  in  the  morning;  but  the  opinion  of  the  said  An- 
thony and  the  lion's  share  of  a  bottle  and  a  half  of  dry 
champagne  is  that  you  may  without  any  breach  of  the 
laws  of  the  game  of  courting  try  to  find  out  from  Miss 
Nora  Normanby  the  reality  and  extent  of  her  father's 
windfall." 

"You  don't  think,  sir,"  said  Jackson  anxiously, 
"  that  she'd  imagine  it  was  on  my  own  account." 

"  I  don't  think  she  would,  my  boy,"  said  the  mana- 
ger, warmly  shaking  his  cashier's  hand.  "  I  don't 
think  anybody  would  that  knows  you.  And  now,  Mr. 
Jackson,  we've  not  emptied  our  glasses  yet,  and  we'll 
drink  to  the  memory  of  my  Uncle  Joseph.  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  ten  years ;  but  he's  done  me  a  good  turn. 
I  wish  he  needn't  have  died  to  do  it.  But  nothing  short 
of  death  would  have  parted  my  Uncle  Joseph  and  his 
money.  He  was  an  unfortunate  old  bachelor  like  my- 
self, Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager  pensively,  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs.  "  Upon  my  soul,  my  boy,  I  think 
you'd  be  wiser  after  all  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself  about 
a  girl.  By  one  path  or  another  we  all  come  to  folly  in 
the  end." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Jackson  nervously 
from  half-way  down  the  stairs,  "  but  I  think  it  might  be 
safer  if  you  put  the  lamp  back  on  the  dining-room 
table." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  JACKSON'S  way  home  led  him  past  Mi- 
chael Brannegan's,  and  personal  dignity  had 
a  long  struggle  with  curiosity  and  a  share  of 
two  bottles  of  champagne  before  it  prevailed  on  him  to 
avoid  the  temptations  of  Michael's  bar-parlor,  where 
Mr.  Jackson  very  well  knew  gossip  would  shortly  be  in 
full  spate  on  the  rumor  of  Mr.  Normanby's  sudden 
wealth. 

The  cashier's  interview  with  his  manager  had  lasted 
little  over  an  hour,  and  already  the  extent  and  diversity 
of  the  rumor  would  have  astounded  any  one  but  a 
dweller  in  a  smallish  seaside  town. 

William  Rankin,  the  cobbler,  seated  in  the  window  of 
his  little  shop,  half-soleing  a  boot  with  an  assiduity  that 
the  uninitiated  would  have  thought  precluded  him  from 
observing  anything  but  his  awl  and  waxed-end,  had 
seen  Mr.  Jackson  calling  at  the  Bank. 

Now  it  was  quite  natural  that  Mr.  Jackson  should  be 
seen  passing  in  and  out  of  the  Bank  premises  between 
the  hours  of  ten  and  four ;  but  why  should  he  be  going 
in  between  six  and  seven?  It  wasn't  half-yearly  bal- 
ance time  the  cobbler  knew  very  well,  for  that  came 
later  in  the  year.  Besides  it  was  Mr.  Jackson's  invari- 
able practise  before  returning  for  his  evening's  late 
work  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  cobbler's  shop.  This 
enabled  him  to  defer  his  return  to  toil  to  the  last  possi- 
ble minute,  and  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  explaining 
to  Mr.  Rankin  how  much  harder  a  bank  clerk  had  to 
work  than  a  cobbler.  It  was  clear  that  Mr.  Jackson 
could  not  be  working  late. 

61 


62         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Maybe,  mused  the  cobbler,  he  was  merely  going  to 
call  on  the  manager.  But  the  cashier  had  never  been  on 
visiting  terms  with  the  late  manager  and  his  family.  It 
was  understood  that  a  cashier  was  lower  in  the  social 
scale  than  a  manager.  As  a  cashier  he  was  in  the  ranks 
of  commerce:  it  was  only  when  he  became  a  manager 
that  he  acquired  professional  status.  Mr.  Berryman's 
cashier  was,  indeed,  occasionally  invited  to  afternoon 
tea,  but  then,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  Mr.  Berryman  was 
hardly  up  to  usual  managerial  standards,  and  it  was 
remembered  in  the  town,  though  Mrs.  Berryman  had 
forgotten  it,  that  his  wife's  father  had  been  in  the  groc- 
ery business. 

But  the  wife  and  daughters  of  Mr.  Wildridge's  pre- 
decessor had  never  recognized  the  cashier  socially. 
Maybe,  the  cobbler  reflected,  waxing  his  thread  medita- 
tively, the  new  manager  was  more  easy-going,  and 
didn't  intend  to  stand  so  much  on  his  dignity.  If  that 
were  so,  pursued  the  cobbler's  thought,  he  might  be  will- 
ing to  wear  country-made  boots,  and  not  send  for  them 
to  Belfast  like  the  late  manager  and  his  family. 

And,  of  course,  the  new  manager  was  a  bachelor  and 
would  need  some  company  of  an  evening  till  he  had  made 
a  few  friends.  It  was  all  quite  plain.  Mr.  Jackson 
had  merely  dropped  in  for  a  chat. 

But  all  the  same  the  cobbler  wasn't  perfectly  satis- 
fied. And  although  to  all  outward  seeming  he  was 
working  away  furiously  without  a  thought  except  about 
the  boot  between  his  knees,  in  reality  a  little  maggot  of 
unsatisfied  curiosity  was  eating  away  busily  at  the  back 
of  his  brain. 

His  frenzy  of  boot-repairing  began  to  slacken.  He 
began  to  bore  his  awl-hole  with  more  deliberation,  and 
the  final  tug  on  his  waxed-end  was  wanting  in  convic- 
tion. At  last  he  laid  down  the  boot  on  which  he  had 
been  working,  opened  the  door  into  his  little  hall  by  jab- 
bing his  awl  into  it,  and  thrusting  out  as  much  of  his 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         63 

head  as  was  possible  without  falling  bodily  off  his  stool 
called  to  his  wife  in  the  kitchen :  "  Sally,  Sally, 
what'd  Mr.  Jackson  be  away  into  the  Bank  at  this  time 
of  night  for?" 

His  wife  looked  up  from  the  face  she  was  washing 
without  the  consent  of  its  owner,  a  small  boy  of  four, 
and  came  into  the  hall  with  a  concerned  expression  of 
countenance.  Her  husband  descended  from  his  stool 
and  joined  her. 

"  Is  he  just  gone  in  there  now,  William?  (Stop  that 
cryin',  ye  wee  brat,  or  I'll  go  back  an'  warm  your  ear. 
Eh?  Well,  rub  the  soap  out  of  your  eyes  then; 
haven't  ye  hands  on  ye?)  I  wonder  what'd  be  up,"  she 
continued  to  her  husband,  gazing  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  Bank. 

"  It's  queer  him  goin'  in  there  as  far  on  in  the  day  as 
this  an*  no  late  work  on  nor  nothin',"  returned  her  hus- 
band. 

The  pair  contemplated  the  Bank  door  in  silence  for 
as  long  as  would  have  sewn  on  one  side  of  a  half-sole; 
but  no  inspiration  came  to  them. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do,  William,"  said  Mrs.  Rankin, 
reaching  behind  her  for  the  knot  of  her  apron ;  "  I'll 
run  down  the  length  of  Mary  Molloy's  an'  hear  if 
there's  anything  on  in  the  town." 

"  Aye,  do,"  said  the  cobbler,  "  an'  I'll  go  in  an'  finish 
them  boots  I'm  at.  It'll  take  me  all  my  time  to  get 
them  done  before  dark;  an'  they're  wanted  in  the 
mornin'.  Don't  stand  gostherin'  there  all  night." 

"  I'll  be  back  in  the  shakin'  of  a  lamb's  tail,"  an- 
swered his  wife,  hastily  hanging  up  her  apron  on  one 
nail  and  reaching  down  a  shawl  from  another.  "  Hold 
on  till  I  cuff  these  children  to  bed."  And  having  driven 
the  denizens  of  the  kitchen  to  universal  lamentation  in 
the  upper  regions  of  the  house,  she  departed  joyfully  on 
her  mission,  leaving  the  cobbler  debating  with  himself 
whether  it  would  be  worth  while  to  resume  work  before 


64          MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

she  came  back,  a  problem  which  he  settled  by  lighting 
his  pipe  and  continuing  to  prop  up  the  front  door. 

Long  after  a  well-brought-up  lamb  would  have  ceased 
shaking  its  tail  and  gone  to  bed,  Mrs.  Rankin  returned, 
astutely  dodging  her  husband's  wrath  by  beginning  her 
story  while  she  was  still  about  twenty  yards  away. 

With  the  help  of  her  friend  Mrs.  Molloy  she  had 
traced  Mr.  Jackson's  movements  since  he  left  the  Bank 
at  four  o'clock  with  wonderful  accuracy,  practically 
nothing  having  escaped  notice  but  the  blacksmith's  sur- 
reptitious pint  at  Gerahan's ;  but  as  his  refreshment  at 
Michael's  was  multiplied  by  three,  the  story  was  a  pint 
of  porter  to  the  good. 

The  collecting  of  the  facts  had  taken  little  time;  it 
was  in  the  drawing  of  deductions  from  them,  or  as  Mrs. 
Rankin  expressed  it,  "  putting  two  and  two  together," 
that  the  delay  had  taken  place. 

The  final  theory  of  the  cronies,  assisted  by  a  council 
of  friends  collected  during  the  investigations,  was  that 
the  blacksmith  being  in  money  difficulties  and  having 
failed  to  meet  a  bill  when  it  came  due,  Mr.  Jackson  un- 
der pretense  of  having  a  dog's  tail  docked  had  gone 
down  to  dun  him;  and  that  the  blacksmith  not  being 
able  to  pay,  Mr.  Jackson  had  called  on  Mr.  Finncgan, 
his  surety  on  the  bill,  to  demand  payment,  and  had  re- 
turned to  the  Bank  to  report  progress  to  the  manager. 
It  was  also  agreed  that  the  blacksmith  having  begun  to 
drown  care  with  three  pints  of  porter  in  Michael  Bran- 
negan's  would  certainly  send  out  for  a  further  supply 
of  liquid,  and  was  likely  by  this  time  blind  drunk. 

This  last  hypothesis,  just  before  Mrs.  Rankin's  de- 
parture from  her  friends,  had  been  raised  to  a  certainty 
by  the  contribution  of  a  late-comer,  one  Mrs.  Robinson, 
who  had  heard  that  the  blacksmith's  wife,  finding  her 
man  lying  in  the  corner  behind  the  forge  fire,  had  in  her 
rage  lifted  a  shovelful  of  red  coals  from  the  forge  fire 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         65 

» 

and  thrown  it  about  his  legs,  utterly  ruining  a  pair  of 
new  moleskin  breeches. 

The  cobbler  was  quite  content  with  his  wife's  inter- 
pretation of  the  Jackson  incident,  and  as  it  was  ob- 
viously not  worth  while  sitting  down  to  work  on  a  pair 
of  boots  that  he  couldn't  finish  that  night,  had  just  de- 
cided to  retire  to  the  kitchen  and  discuss  the  new  topic 
with  his  wife,  when  Rumor,  in  this  case  personified  by 
James  Robertson,  the  postman,  wafted  the  first  intel- 
ligence of  Mr.  Normanby's  good  fortune  into  his  door. 

But  James,  with  a  piquant  bit  of  gossip  to  deliver  all 
over  the  town,  as  well  as  the  evening  mail,  hadn't  time 
to  convey  more  than  the  bald  outlines  of  the  story  to  the 
cobbler,  who  determined  to  seek  the  fountain  head  at 
once,  and  set  out  for  Michael  Brannegan's,  marching 
down  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  ignoring  the  little 
groups  that  had  formed  in  every  few  doorways  all  along 
the  postman's  wake.  His  wife,  too  greedy  for  gossip 
herself  to  oppose  his  going,  watched  his  departing  figure 
enviously,  and  hoped  without  much  hope  that  he  might 
return  home  sober  enough  to  be  able  to  tell  her  the 
news. 


AS  the  cobbler  made  his  way  to  Michael's  he  laid 
down  his  plan  of  campaign  in  the  forthcoming 
maneuvers  with  Terry,  and  like  a  prudent 
general  first  of  all  took  stock  of  the  sinews  of  war, 
which  he  found  amounted  to  two  shillings  and  three 
pence.  He  was  well  aware  that  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
tracting information  a  frontal  attack  was  vain.  The 
obvious  strategy  was  a  flank  movement,  supported  by 
heavy  artillery  in  the  shape  of  pints  of  porter;  and  a 
brief  calculation  satisfied  him  that  the  funds  at  his  dis- 
posal were  ample.  He  might,  it  is  true,  be  obliged  to 
call  in  an  ally;  but  then  a  judiciously  selected  ally 
would  contribute  to  the  expenses  of  the  campaign.  He 
marched  forward,  satisfied  that  victory  was  already 
within  his  grasp. 

But,  like  many  another  general,  he  had  not  considered 
the  value  of  moments.  While  he  had  been  detained  by 
the  reconnaissance  conducted  by  his  wife,  his  plan  of 
campaign  had  been  put  into  operation  by  more  active 
assailants;  and  the  enemy  completely  overwhelmed. 
Unfortunately,  as  not  infrequently  happens,  the  very 
completeness  of  the  victory  was  the  undoing  of  the  vic- 
tors, and  the  utter  prostration  of  the  foe  had  left  him 
without  the  power  of  paying  a  war  indemnity.  In  other 
words,  to  drop  the  military  metaphor,  the  gossips  of 
Portnamuck  in  their  anxiety  to  extract  information 
from  Terry  had  filled  him  so  full  that  he  wasn't  able  to 
tell  them  anything  at  all,  and  by  the  time  the  cobbler 
arrived  on  the  scene  was  lying  speechless  under  the  hotel 
stairs  in  the  recess  usually  reserved  for  boots. 

66 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         67 

But  the  cobbler's  greatness  of  soul  was  not  to  be 
overcome.  He  calculated  his  resources  again,  reflected 
that  after  all  a  cobbler  was  as  good  as  any  other  man, 
and  determined  to  risk  the  higher  price  of  drink  and  the 
frowns  of  the  regular  habitues,  and  boldly  to  penetrate 
into  the  bar-parlor. 

Here  he  found  an  unwonted  state  of  disorder.  The 
regular  members  of  Michael's  parliament  had  assembled 
earlier  than  usual  in  consequence  of  the  news ;  Mr. 
Finnegan  had  discovered,  before  the  complete  overthrow 
of  Terry,  that  Michael  had  driven  out  to  his  farm  to 
inspect  some  cattle,  and  fired  with  the  notion  of  achiev- 
ing fresh  oratorical  honors  had  hastily  declared  the  as- 
sembly a  convention  for  the  purpose  of  debating  the 
good  of  the  community,  and  voted  himself  into  the  chair. 
A  wholesome  respect  for  his  landlord's  tongue  and  brain 
had  prevented  him  from  usurping  the  leather  arm-chair 
sacred  to  Michael's  bulk.  This  had  been  wheeled  into  a 
corner,  and  from  one  of  the  smaller  wooden  arm-chairs 
provided  for  customers  Mr.  Finnegan  was,  when  the 
cobbler  entered,  engaged  in  delivering  his  seventh  ora- 
tion, which,  it  may  be  added,  was  also  the  seventh  ora- 
tion of  the  evening. 

But  it  must  not  be  assumed  that  the  chairman  had 
secured  an  entire  monopoly  of  speech  during  the  meet- 
ing. The  respectful  and  even  humble  silence  that  at- 
tended Michael's  remarks  had  by  no  means  been  ac- 
corded to  the  usurper. 

The  melancholy  seedsman  had  found  time  to  put  forth 
quite  a  series  of  Cassandra-like  prophecies  of  the  results 
of  taking  any  action  whatever  to  enlist  Mr.  Normanby 
in  further  schemes  for  the  good  of  the  town,  his  prog- 
nostications including  an  utter  absence  of  sunshine  in 
the  following  year,  the  failure  of  harvest,  and  the  conse- 
quent ruin  of  the  farming  interest,  and  of  all  those,  es- 
pecially seedsmen,  who  were  indirectly  depending  on 
agriculture. 


68         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Mr.  Sharpe  had  reiterated  at  ten-minute  intervals  his 
willingness  to  take  five  hundred  one-pound  shares  in  any 
rational  commercial  enterprise,  provided  the  directorate 
was  kept  free  from  windbags  and  hypocrites,  and  barked 
forth  with  increasing  pungency  his  opinion  of  persons 
who  were  more  ready  to  put  their  hands  in  other  peo- 
ple's pockets  than  in  their  own;  and  Mr.  Denis  O'Fla- 
herty,  even  more  fluent  than  usual  by  reason  of  his  po- 
tations in  the  afternoon,  had  contributed  a  running 
commentary  of  such  point  and  vigor  on  sallowness  of 
complexion,  loquacity,  and  the  incompatibility  of  a  high 
standard  of  rectitude  with  the  chronic  imbibing  of 
whisky  punch,  that  nothing  but  the  blacksmith's  size  and 
a  recollection  of  the  abnormal  consumption  of  moleskin 
breeches  incident  to  his  trade  could  have  restrained  the 
chairman  from  assault  and  battery. 

But  in  spite  of  all  the  interruptions  the  chairman 
had  dominated  the  meeting.  In  an  assembly  where 
every  man  was  determined  to  say  or  do  nothing  that  he 
couldn't  back  out  of  afterwards,  the  mere  appearance  of 
initiative  created  by  assumption  of  the  chair  gave  a  cer- 
tain preponderance  among  the  unreflecting. 

The  more  knowing  ones,  among  whom  may  be  counted 
the  blacksmith  and  Mr.  Sharpe,  were  not  deceived.  But 
it  suited  them  admirably  that  Mr.  Finnegan  should  be 
in  the  chair.  Mr.  Sharpe,  though  prompt  enough  to 
act  for  himself,  knew  his  fellow-townsmen  well  enough  to 
be  aware  that  if  he  took  any  action  involving  them  he 
would  be  left  in  the  lurch  in  event  of  failure;  and  the 
blacksmith  concealed  under  his  garrulity  and  love  of  fun 
a  large  vein  of  caution.  With  Finnegan  in  the  chair 
they  knew  they  were  safe.  He  had  engrafted  on  a  nat- 
ural taste  for  chairmanship  a  smattering  of  procedure 
gleaned  from  a  shilling  handbook,  and  reveled  in  mo- 
tions, resolutions,  amendments,  adjournments,  and  all 
the  formulae  that  enable  assembled  mankind  to  avoid 
doing  anything  in  particular. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          69 

On  the  present  occasion  Mr.  Finnegan  had  outshone 
himself.  With  each  successive  speech  a  longer  vista  of 
office  had  opened  before  him,  and  in  his  eighth  discourse 
he  was  in  the  middle  of  outlining  a  series  of  meetings, 
extending  over  several  weeks,  in  which  no  business  could 
possibly  be  transacted,  when  the  door  of  the  bar-room 
flung  back  violently,  and  Michael  elbowed  past  the  side- 
posts  and  stood  within  surveying  the  company  with  a 
suspicious  and  lowering  glare. 

Mr.  Finnegan  instantly  saw  the  moments  of  his  chair- 
manship numbered,  but  with  a  temerity  that  nothing  but 
his  passion  for  the  dignity  could  have  inspired,  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  retain  office. 

"  You  have  doubtless  heard,  Mr.  Brannegan,  the  news 
of  the  phenomenal  good  fortune  of  what  I  may  call  one 
of  our  most  distinguished  fellow-citizens.  We  have  con- 
stituted a  little  meeting  here,  and  our  friends,  subject, 
of  course,  always  to  your  approval,  have  in  your  absence 
done  me  what  I  must  call  the  great  honor  of  appointing 
me  to  the  chair " 

But  Michael,  whose  visage  had  been  purpling  omi- 
nously, listened  no  further.  Three  strides  carried  him 
across  the  creaking  floor.  He  caught  the  shrinking 
Finnegan  by  the  coat  collar. 

"  Up  with  ye,"  he  cried  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  twitched 
him  out  of  the  chair,  and  flung  himself  heavily  into  it. 

Half  a  dozen  friendly  voices  were  raised  in  warning, 
but  they  were  too  late.  The  arms  of  the  chair  creaked, 
cracked,  yielded  a  little,  but  in  the  end  stood  firm. 
Michael  was  hopelessly  wedged. 

For  about  a  second  he  did  not  realize  his  disaster,  and 
swept  the  room  with  a  mingled  stare  of  inquiry  and 
consternation.  Then  a  half-strangled  bellow  of  rage 
burst  from  him.  His  huge  chest  heaved  and  strained. 
His  great  thighs  expanded  with  effort ;  his  heels  spurned 
to  the  floor.  A  second  warning,  this  time  in  a  shout, 
was  a  second  time  too  late.  The  chair  tilted  back, 


70          MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

paused  majestically  on  its  hind  legs  for  a  breathless 
instant,  and  the  next  Michael's  vast  bulk,  adorned  with 
the  fragments  of  a  wooden  arm-chair,  was  being  dragged 
off  the  breathless  carcase  of  the  unfortune  cobbler  who, 
conscious  of  his  lack  of  standing  in  the  room  and  dread- 
ing Michael's  tongue,  had  stolen  behind  Mr.  Finnegan's 
back  in  the  hope  of  avoiding  observation. 

A  few  good  Samaritans  carried  the  cobbler  out  to  the 
street  door;  but  the  majority  of  the  company  crowded 
round  Michael  with  foreboding  sycophancy. 

It  was  in  vain.  When  Michael  was  hoisted  to  his  feet 
he  motioned  feebly  for  his  leather  arm-chair,  and  sank 
into  it  with  a  suddenness  that  almost  brought  about  a 
second  disaster.  Then  he  drew  half  a  dozen  deep 
breaths,  glared  furiously  at  the  ring  of  anxious  faces 
bending  over  him,  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

"  Get  out,"  he  gasped  apoplectically,  "  all  of  you  — 
this  minute." 

Consternation  fell  on  the  room.  To  leave  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  with  such  a  tit-bit  to  discuss.  It  was 
monstrous.  But  who  was  to  bell  the  cat?  All  eyes 
turned  to  Mr.  Finnegan,  the  cause  of  the  disaster.  He 
trembled,  and  almost  turned  tail.  But  there  were  at 
least  half  a  dozen  customers  among  his  victims. 

"  Oh  now,  Mr.  Brannegan "  he  faltered. 

But  the  landlord's  usual  supply  of  breath  had  re- 
turned to  him.  The  spoons  jingled  in  the  tumblers  and 
the  tumblers  danced  on  the  tables  at  his  bellow : 

"  Get  out  to  blazes  —  the  whole  pack  of  ye  • —  or  if  I 
rise " 

Nobody  waited  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  his  threat. 
In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  bar-parlor  was  empty. 
The  sound  of  Michael's  footsteps  in  the  passage  cleared 
the  bar  a  moment  later.  In  a  few  more  seconds  the  bar 
door  slammed  noisily;  and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in 
the  history  of  Portnamuck  Mr.  Michael  Brannegan's 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         71 

Family  Hotel  and  saloon  bar  was  closed  at  the  incredible 
hour  of  eight  o'clock. 

A  few  of  the  regular  frequenters  hung  about  the  door 
vainly  hoping  that  Michael  might  relent.  The  dismal 
forebodings  of  the  cobbler's  wife  were  gratified  by  the 
spectacle  of  the  remainder  conveying  her  husband  home 
in  his  customary  limp  condition  at  an  abnormally  early 
hour. 

The  convoying  party  formed  the  nucleus  for  an  as- 
sembly that  speedily  overflowed  the  cobbler's  kitchen. 
The  cobbler  was  still  too  much  overcome  by  his  disaster 
to  take  his  share  in  the  proceedings ;  but  his  wife  eagerly 
drank  in  all  the  variations  of  Terry's  porter-inspired 
imaginings ;  and  when  Rumor  set  out  on  her  task  at 
dawn  the  next  day  she  derived  no  little  assistance  from 
the  efforts  of  Mrs.  Rankin. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  following  morning,  as  soon  as  the  books 
had  been  brought  out  and  the  usual  corn- 
minatory  service  subsequent  to  the  reading  of 
the  Head  Office  Letter  duly  performed,  the  manager  re- 
opened the  subject  of  the  previous  night's  discussion 
with  his  cashier,  judiciously  suppressing  any  reference 
to  the  practise  of  the  ancient  Germans. 

"  I  have  been  turning  over  in  my  mind,  Mr.  Jackson," 
said  he,  "  the  information  you  brought  me  last  night, 
and  I'm  inclined  to  regard  it  with  as  much  suspicion  as 
you  do  yourself." 

Mr.  Jackson,  who  had  a  considerable  leaning  towards 
belief  in  Terry's  story,  was  seduced  by  the  manager's 
diplomatic  ending  into  declaring  that  he  thought  the 
whole  story  a  pack  of  lies. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  said  the  manager,  "  we'll  act  as  if 
it  was,  anyhow." 

"  But  don't  you  think  there  might  be  something  in  it, 
sir,"  went  on  the  cashier,  recovering  his  own  standpoint 
a  little.  "  It  came  through  the  other  Bank,  and  they 
must  have  believed  it.  And  I  think  there  has  been  some 
kind  of  a  foreigner  over  inquiring  about  Mr.  Normanby. 
There  must  be  something  in  it,  sir.  There's  no  smok« 
without  fire." 

"  You'd  have  said  that  if  you'd  seen  my  dining-room 
ceiling  this  morning,"  said  the  manager.  "  I  thought  I 
asked  you  to  turn  down  the  lamp  when  we  were  leaving 
the  room.  But  no  matter,"  went  on  the  manager, 
waving  down  Mr.  Jackson's  incipient  protest,  "  we'll  say 
nothing  about  it.  You  were  a  bit  flustered  last  night, 

72 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          73 

weren't  you?  Maybe  I  pressed  you  a  little  too  hard 
about  a  certain  young  lady.  But  really,  Mr.  Jackson, 
I  think  that  there  is  the  only  reliable  source  of  informa- 
tion. It  would  be  difficult  and  indiscreet  to  question  her 
father;  but  his  daughter  is  sure  to  know  all  about  the 
fortune,  if  there  is  a  fortune.  She  runs  the  house,  and, 
as  far  as  I  can  learn,  she  runs  the  old  gentleman  too  — 
a  circumstance,  my  young  friend,  very  well  worth  your 
taking  account  of  in  another  connexion.  A  tendency  to 
blush,  Mr.  Jackson,  is  embarrassing,  but  creditable. 
Don't  regret  it,  my  dear  fellow.  When  you've  outgrown 
that  you'll  have  outgrown  a  good  many  other  things 
more  worth  regretting.  As  I  was  saying,  Miss  Nor- 
manby  can  tell  us  what  we  want  to  know,  and  if  it  doesn't 
go  against  your  conscience,  what  with  her  prepossession 
in  your  favor  and  a  talent  for  diplomacy  that  I  was 
pleased  to  observe  in  you  last  night,  you  are  the  man  to 
approach  her." 

"  You  are  sure,  sir,  she  wouldn't  think  — — "  said 
Jackson  hesitatingly. 

"  Now  didn't  I  tell  you,"  returned  the  manager. 
"  Besides,  in  a  way  it's  up  to  you  to  know  where  you  are. 
The  girl  is  penniless,  and  you  are  no  millionaire.  You 
don't  happen  to  possess  a  reserve  of  wealthy  uncles,  do 
you?" 

"  Divil  a  one,  sir,"  answered  Jackson.  "  They've  all 
too  big  families." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  the  manager,  "  a  man  can't  provide 
you  with  cousins  and  leave  you  a  fortune  as  well.  And 
a  pretty  girl  cousin  is  not  to  be  despised.  They're  use- 
ful too.  I  took  the  edge  off  my  appetite  for  courting 
with  one  or  two  of  mine.  It's  like  field  maneuvers.  It 
gives  you  valuable  experience  before  you  encounter  the 
real  enemy.  To  return  to  our  subject  though.  By  the 
way,  I  have  observed  in  you,  Mr.  Jackson,  a  regrettable 
tendency  towards  digression."  The  manager  bore  his 
subordinate's  reproachful  look  unflinchingly,  and  went 


74         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

on :  "  Situated  as  the  pair  of  you  are,  the  very  most 
you  can  allow  yourself  as  a  man  of  honor  is  three 
months'  philandering.  Longer  would  be  to  do  an  injus- 
tice to  the  girl.  But  supposing  you  do  ascertain  that 
she  is  an  undoubted  heiress,  you  can  open  the  flood-gates 
of  your  affection  without  scruple,  and  if  her  father's 
wealth  doesn't  gain  him  enough  influence  to  have  you 
promoted  to  a  cashiership  somewhere  in  Connemara  be- 
fore things  come  to  a  crisis,  I  may  live  to  bow  you  and 
your  bride  out  to  your  carriage.  It's  a  little  attention 
I  always  pay  to  wealthy  customers.  Come  now,  if 
there's  anything  of  the  Sherlock  Holmes  in  you,  both 
love  and  duty  call  you  to  summon  it  forth." 

"  You're  chaffing  me,  sir,"  said  Jackson  doubtfully. 
"  But,  hang  it,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

"  This  afternoon,  eh?  "  questioned  the  manager. 

"  Well,  sir,  Nbra  comes  up  the  street  about  half-past 
ten  for  the  morning  paper,  and  she  looks  in  here  occa- 
sionally if "  The  cashier  paused  in  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  If ?  "  asked  the  manager. 

"  If  I  look  out  over  the  wire  blind  —  well,  it  shows 
that  the  coast  is  clear,"  blurted  out  the  cashier. 

"  It's  twenty-five  minutes  past  ten  now,"  said  the 
manager.  "  Hold  on  till  I  get  my  hat.  I  have  a  most 
important  errand  across  in  the  seedsman's  that  will 
probably  last  me  till  Miss  Normanby  has  transacted  her 
business  in  the  Bank.  Now  I'm  right.  And,  Mr.  Jack- 
son," said  the  manager,  glancing  back  between  the  swing- 
ing doors,  "  if  I  should  be  needed  in  the  meantime  you 
can  —  oh  well,  you  can  look  out  over  the  wire  blind." 

Left  to  himself  the  cashier  made  a  hasty  raid  into  the 
lavatory  for  the  official  mirror  and  a  piece  of  soap,  with 
the  joint  assistance  of  which  he  smoothed  down  his  hair 
to  his  satisfaction  and  drew  out  the  ends  of  his  mustache 
into  stiff  points.  Then  he  carefully  straightened  his 
tie,  changed  back  from  his  office  coat  into  his  out-of- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         75 

doors  one,  and,  after  a  last  fleeting  glance  at  the  mirror, 
took  up  his  stand  at  the  window  looking  out  into  the 
street. 

From  this  he  was  dislodged  by  the  entrance  of  two 
customers  with  lodgments.  He  checked  these  with  a 
celerity  that  would  have  promoted  him  to  the  head  office 
counter  had  the  proper  persons  been  observing  him,  dis- 
missed his  clients  with  courteous  —  if  pointed  — "  Good 
mornings,"  paid  a  small  cheque  to  a  country  woman 
(losing  threepence  of  commission  in  his  hurry  during  the 
process),  and  was  back  at  the  window  just  in  time  to 
catch  the  eye  of  Miss  Nora  Normanby  as  she  looked 
over  her  shoulder  for  the  last  time  before  concluding 
that  the  coast  could  not  be  clear. 

She  waved  an  unabashed  salutation  to  him  with  the 
half-open  newspaper,  dashed  tempestuously  across  the 
road,  and  next  moment  was  within  the  Bank  doors  radi- 
ant with  the  sense  of  convention  defied.  A  less  impres- 
sionable young  man  than  the  cashier  might  well  have 
believed  that  a  fresher  breath  of  morning  entered  with 
her. 

First  of  all  she  wrinkled  a  very  straight  little  nose  in 
a  grimace  of  inquiry  towards  the  manager's  desk;  and 
then,  on  receiving  a  reassuring  nod  from  Mr.  Jackson, 
vaulted  dexterously  on  the  counter,  and  sat  there  swing- 
ing her  legs  with  the  air  of  one  very  much  at  home. 

"  I  thought  the  old  frump  must  be  in  the  Bank  when 
I  didn't  see  you  at  the  window.  Why  weren't  you  look- 
ing out?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  explained.  "  But  look  here,"  he  went 
on  aggrievedly,  "  you've  never  said  good  morning  to  me 
yet."  He  grasped  her  hand  and  pressed  it  tenderly. 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Normanby,  "  don't 
stand  there  looking  like  a  sick  cat.  And  why  on  earth 
can't  you  say  good  morning  without  squashing  my  ring 
into  my  fingers?  Listen.  I  haven't  very  much  time 
this  morning.  I  want  to  ask  you  —  what's  he  like?  " 


76         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Who?  "  asked  Jackson. 

"  Him,"  answered  the  young  lady,  jerking  her  thumb 
in  the  direction  of  the  desk  behind.  "  The  new  one." 

"  Oh,  an  awfully  decent  chap,"  said  Jackson  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Better  than  old  Cross-patch?"  demanded  Miss 
Normanby. 

"  Worth  a  dozen  of  him,"  returned  the  cashier.  "  A 
different  man  altogether,  young  and  jolly." 

"  Young,  is  he?  "  said  Miss  Normanby,  with  increased 
interest.  "  I  thought  all  bank  managers  were  old  and 
cross.  What  age?" 

"About  thirty-five,"  answered  Jackson,  loyally  sup- 
pressing three  years. 

"  Good  gracious,"  said  Miss  Normanby  with  scorn ; 
"  call  that  young !  Why,  it's  old  enough  to  be  my 
father.  But  is  he  really  jolly  and  good-natured,  or  are 
you  only  pulling  my  leg?  " 

'*  Oh,  honor  bright  he  is,"  answered  Jackson.  "  He's 
not  a  bit  solemn  like  old " 

"  Cross-patch,"  interrupted  the  lady.  "  Sour  old 
beast.  I  hated  him." 

"  This  man's  not  like  that  at  all.  He's  up  to  any 
amount  of  fun."  Mr.  Jackson  recalled  some  of  his 
chief's  persiflage  and  reddened  slightly.  "  You'll  like 
him  immensely,  really  you  will." 

"  Is  he  the  sort  of  man  you  could  ask  a  favor  from?  " 

"  The  decentest  soul  alive,"  declared  the  cashier. 
"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

But  Miss  Normanby  was  leaning  back  against  the 
partition  that  screened  the  cashier's  desk  from  the  pub- 
lic gaze,  looking  far  into  the  distance,  and  tapping  ab- 
stractedly at  a  ravishing  little  chin  with  the  forefinger 
of  her  right  hand.  A  student  of  character  would  have 
perceived  that,  despite  her  vivacity,  some  little  portion 
of  her  father's  day-dreaming  spirit  had  descended  to 
her. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         77 

But  Mr.  Jackson  was  occupied  with  other  matters. 
By  raising  her  right  hand  Miss  Normanby  had  created 
an  orifice  between  the  curve  of  her  waist  and  the  parti- 
tion before-mentioned.  The  cashier  had  long  forgotten 
the  mission  entrusted  to  him,  but  a  portion  of  his  man- 
ager's discourse  of  the  preceding  night  flashed  across 
his  mind.  His  heart  thumped  furiously  at  the  thought 
of  a  great  possibility.  His  right  arm  rose  from  his  side, 
curved  a  little :  he  hesitated,  plucked  up  courage  again. 
If  there  had  been  room  for  his  arm  the  thing  was  as 
good  as  done. 

Miss  Normanby,  awakened  from  her  reverie  by  a 
tickling  in  the  small  of  her  back,  looked  down  hastily  and 
perceived  the  hand  and  a  portion  of  the  wrist  of  Mr. 
Jackson  projecting  beyond  her  blouse.  The  young 
man's  passion  for  stiff  cuffs  had  been  his  undoing. 
Further  progress  was  impossible. 

It  was  a  humiliating  position.  Mr.  Jackson  felt  it 
so,  withdrew  his  arm  hastily,  and  stood  looking  as  fool- 
ish as  a  young  man  could  look.  He  felt  desperately 
that  nothing  but  an  air  of  assurance  and  a  few  words  of 
easy  confidence  could  carry  off  the  situation,  but  for  the 
life  of  him  he  couldn't  utter  a  syllable. 

Miss  Normanby,  however,  was  neither  perturbed  nor 
amazed.  She  merely  looked  at  the  cashier  with  an  air 
of  mild  surprise. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  think  you're  doing?"  she 
asked. 

If  Mr.  Jackson  had  known  anything  to  do  other  than 
looking  foolish  he  would  have  done  it,  but  he  didn't. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Jacks,"  pursued  Miss  Nor- 
manby, "  that  you're  beginning  to  get  sloppy.  Were 
you  actually  trying  to  put  your  arm  around  my 
waist?" 

"I  say,  Nora,  you're  not  mad  at  me,  are  you?" 
stammered  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  answered  Miss  Normanby  cheerfully. 


78         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  It  seems  a  very  silly  proceeding  to  me ;  but  if  you 
think  it  will  do  you  any  good,  I  don't  mind.  Here,  I'll 
sit  forward  a  little.  But  don't  pull  me  about.  I  want 
to  think." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Miss  Normanby  was 
quite  so  unconscious  of  the  cashier's  rather  timid  caress 
as  she  affected  to  be;  but  to  all  appearance  she  was 
plunged  into  abstraction  again. 

Placing  one's  arm  around  a  young  lady  who  "  wants 
to  think "  is,  however,  a  disappointing  business ;  and 
after  an  embarrassed  interval  Mr.  Jackson  withdrew  his 
arm  again. 

"Have  you  quite  done?"  inquired  Miss  Normanby 
politely.  Then,  settling  herself  comfortably  against 
the  partition  again :  "  Now  about  the  manager." 

"  Oh,  hang  the  manager ! "  said  Jackson  with  some 
heat. 

"  I  don't  care  a  fig,"  returned  Miss  Normanby ;  "  but 
not  till  I've  done  with  him.  I  want  to  speak  to  him 
about  a  little  matter  of  business,  particularly  if  he's  as 
nice  as  you  say  he  is.  Look  here,  Jacks,  do  you  think 
he's  the  sort  of  man  to  do  a  favor  for  a  young  lady 
who's  prepared  to  talk  very  nicely  to  him,  and  has  got 
her  good  clothes  on?  I  was  coming  in  later  on,  but  I 
wanted  to  find  out  from  you  first  how  the  land  lay. 
Did  you  notice  my  new  blouse?  —  Good  gracious,"  she 
cried  in  alarm,  "  I  hope  you  blotted  your  pen-finger  be- 
fore you  put  your  arm  round  me ! " 

"  I  never  ink  my  fingers,"  answered  the  cashier  with 
dignity. 

"  I  do,  then,"  returned  Miss  Normanby,  "  right  up 
to  the  knuckles.  But  what  do  you  think  about  the 
manager  ?  Would  he " 

"  I  say,  Nora,"  interrupted  Jackson  softly ;  "  talk 
nicely  to  me  and  I'll  do  anything  you  wish." 

"  Would  you?  "  cried  Miss  Normanby,  sitting  round 
suddenly  and  beaming  dazzlingly  on  the  cashier. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         79 

"  You're  a  real  sport."  Then  her  smile  faded,  and  she 
looked  dubious.  "  But  you're  only  the  cashier." 

Mr.  Jackson's  slender  stock  of  prudence  had  vanished 
before  her  smile. 

"  Sure  I  can  do  anything  for  you  that  the  manager 
can,"  he  protested  rashly. 

"  Honor  bright?  "  demanded  Miss  Normanby. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson  a  little  weakly. 

"  Jacks,"  cried  the  young  lady  with  enthusiasm,  "  I 
wish  I'd  known  days  ago  what  a  dear  you  are."  She 
adroitly  avoided  an  enveloping  movement  of  the  cash- 
ier's arm.  "Now  don't  be  sloppy  for  a  moment. 
Look,  Jacks,  I  want  the  loan  of  fifty  pounds ;  and  you 
mustn't  ask  me  what  I'm  going  to  do  with  it.  It'll  only 
be  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  I'll  let  you  know  what  it 
was  for.  I  don't  want  you  even  to  tell  the  manager  if 
you  can  help  it.  And  I'd  like  it  in  Bank  of  England 
notes.  Do  you  keep  Bank  of  England  notes  in  Ire- 
land?" 

Mr.  Jackson  seized  on  the  query  as  an  excuse  to  gain 
time.  "Bank  of  England  notes?"  he  inquired  feebly. 
"  Wait  till  I  see  if  I  have  any."  He  moved  to  his  note- 
drawer  and  began  to  grope  among  the  contents,  his 
brain  a  chaos.  "  What  a  hole  I'm  in,"  he  thought 
wildly,  "  what  a  hole !  Why,  oh  why  did  I  make  such  a 
silly  statement  ?  " 

For  Mr.  Jackson  had  suddenly  dropped  from  among 
the  rosy  clouds  of  romance  into  the  gray  world  of  busi- 
ness, where  the  advancing  of  money  is  the  privilege  of 
the  manager  alone,  and  where  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  and  a 
tangle  of  yellow  curls,  however  desirable  in  themselves, 
have  very  little  value  as  security.  To  give  the  money 
was  an  impossibility. 

On  the  other  hand,  to  refuse  it  or  to  admit  his  lack  of 
authority  to  give  it  was  humiliation  bitter  and  crushing. 
To  face  the  scorn  in  Miss  Normanby's  eyes  for  months, 
perhaps  even  years,  was  more,  he  felt,  than  he  could 


80         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

endure.  If  he  could  only  beg,  borrow,  or  steal  -*-  for  a 
frantic  moment  the  last  expedient  flashed  through  his 
mind;  but  no,  such  a  sum  was  utterly  beyond  his  re- 
sources. With  anguish  Mr.  Jackson  looked  backward 
on  a  long  vista  of  canes,  breast-pins,  sleeve-links,  ciga- 
rettes, and  fox-terrier  pups  —  fifty  pounds'  worth  twice 
told  —  and  cursed  his  extravagance.  What  on  earth 
was  he  to  do?  But  no  answer  came  to  him.  His  hands 
wandered  aimlessly  among  the  notes,  as  he  still  fought 
desperately  for  time;  and  in  his  ingratitude  he  cursed 
the  friendly  delay  of  his  manager.  His  banker's  soul 
cried  out  for  some  one  on  to  whom  to  shift  the  re- 
sponsibility. If  only  the  manager  would  come  back ! 

At  the  same  moment  there  dawned  on  him  a  recollec- 
tion of  his  chief's  instructions,  and  a  possible  means  of 
escape.  The  manager  must  return  shortly.  He  would 
fill  up  the  interval  by  sounding  Miss  Nora  about  the 
rumored  fortune. 

"  Come  along  now,  Jacks,"  she  broke  in  on  his  medita- 
tion. "  Don't  be  all  day.  There's  no  use  letting  the 
manager  catch  me  here  when  I  don't  need  to  see  him." 

"  I  say,  Nora,"  began  Jackson,  "  why  won't  you  tell 
me  what  you  want  the  money  for?  " 

"  Just  because  I  won't,"  returned  Miss  Normanby 
decisively.  "  If  you  want  me  to  talk  nicely  to  you 
you've  got  to  trot  out  that  fifty  pounds  without  any 
questions." 

"  But  when  we're  such  good  chums,"  protested  the 
cashier.  "You  ought  to  have  more  confidence  in  me 
than  that." 

"  You  ought  to  have  enough  confidence  in  me  to  let 
me  have  the  money  without  asking  a  lot  of  questions. 
Come  along,  trot  it  out.  Mind  you,  Jacks,"  said  Miss 
Normanby  airily,  "  if  you  don't,  I  know  who  will.  The 
cashier  in  the  North-Eastern  Bank  is  an  awfully  nice 
fellow,  and  real  badly  gone  on  me;  and  I  can  just  talk 
as  nicely  to  him  as  to  you,  if  it's  necessary." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         81 

"  But  look  here,  Nora,"  went  on  Mr.  Jackson,  wildly 
eyeing  the  clock,  "  you  must  be  chaffing  me.  You  can't 
really  need  fifty  pounds,  and  you  coming  into  a  fortune 
some  of  these  days." 

Miss  Normanby  sat  up  sharply. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  she  demanded.  "What  do 
you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  Sure,  it's  all  over  the  town,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson 
uneasily.  "  I  heard  the  report  days  ago.  Isn't  it 
true?  A  lot  of  money  that  was  left  to  you  or  your 
father  by  your  uncle  who  died  in  America." 

Miss  Normanby  glared  at  the  cashier  with  incredu- 
lous indignation. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Jacks,  that  you're  having  the 
impudence  to  try  and  pump  me,  before  you'll  give  me 
the  money  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Even  in  his  dismay  Mr.  Jackson  was  thrilled  by  the 
flashing  of  the  angry  blue  eyes ;  and  he  knew  that  only 
seconds  divided  him  from  utter  rupture  with  the  owner 
thereof.  He  glanced  in  added  desperation  at  the  clock 
and  stammered  some  deprecatory  words. 

Miss  Normanby  sprang  down  from  the  counter  and 
faced  the  cashier  across  it  in  towering  anger. 

"  See  here  now,  Jacks,"  she  cried,  "  I'll  have  no  more 
of  this  humbugging.  Answer  me  straight  out.  Will 
you  give  me  that  fifty  pounds  or  will  you  not  ?  " 

Anguish  filled  the  cashier's  soul.  But  there  was  no 
help  for  him. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Nora,"  he  said  despairingly ;  "  that's 
the  truth.  I  can't  possibly  do  it." 

"  But  you  told  me  a  minute  or  two  ago  you  could," 
said  Miss  Normanby. 

"  I  didn't  think  it  was  money  you  wanted,"  protested 
Mr.  Jackson  feebly. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  I  wanted  from  a  bank  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Normanby.  "  A  pound  of  tea,  or  a  side  of 
bacon?  You  might  invent  a  better  excuse  than  that, 


82         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Mr.  Jackson,"  she  said,  turning  scornfully  towards  the 
door. 

Mr.  Jackson's  gorge  rose  against  his  manager.  Why 
had  he  placed  an  unfortunate  cashier  in  such  a  position 
of  misery  and  humiliation?  It  was  a  shame,  a  shame; 
and  Mr.  Jackson  would  stand  it  no  longer.  Loyalty, 
even  his  loyalty,  had  its  limits. 

"  Nora,"  he  cried  appealingly,  "  Nora,  listen  to  me 
for  a  moment.  I  can  explain." 

Miss  Normanby  paused  irresolutely  at  the  door,  then 
came  back  slowly  to  the  counter. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I'm  listening  to  you. 
But  be  sharp  about  it." 

"  Well,  it's  like  this,"  began  Jackson  hesitatingly. 
Even  yet,  he  felt,  the  manager  might  appear  and  suc- 
cor him.  "  In  an  ordinary  way  I  can  do  quite  a  lot  of 
things  on  my  own  responsibility." 

"  Could  you  give  me  fifty  pounds?  "  interjected  Miss 
Normanby. 

"  Quite  a  lot  of  things,"  went  on  Mr.  Jackson,  avoid- 
ing the  thrust.  "  And  you  know  I'd  do  anything  in  the 
world  I  could  for  you." 

"No  soft  soap,  Jacks,"  snapped  Miss  Normanby. 
"  Get  on  with  it." 

"  Well,  it's  like  this,"  Mr.  Jackson  stammered. 

"  I  know,"  said  Miss  Normanby.  "  You've  said  that 
before." 

"  It's  only  when  the  manager  hasn't  definitely  for- 
bidden me  to  do  a  thing."  ( "  He  did  tell  me  we  must 
act  for  the  present  as  if  there  was  no  fortune,"  said  Mr. 
Jackson  to  his  conscience,  "  and  I'd  like  to  know  what 
else  is  that  but  forbidding  me.") 

Miss  Nora  Normanby  gripped  the  edge  of  the  counter 
tightly  with  both  hands  —  even  in  his  agony  Mr.  Jack- 
son noticed  that  one  of  her  little  finger-tips  showed 
white  through  the  torn  glove  with  the  intensity  of  her 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         83 

grasp  —  and  bent  forward  across  the  counter.  And  if 
she  had  been  angry  before,  she  was  furious  now. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  " —  she  stuttered  with  indig- 
nation — "  that  the  manager  had  the  impertinence  to 
hint  that  I  was  likely  to  be  in  want  of  money,  and  that 
you  weren't  to  give  it  to  me.  Tell  me  " —  she  stamped 
her  foot  —  "  tell  me  when  I  ask  you." 

"  It  wasn't  about  you,  Nora,"  began  Jackson. 

"  Or  dad  either,"  she  cried.  "  Is  my  dad  not  honest? 
Oh,  you  cads,  you  pair  of  cads !  No,  I  don't  blame  you ; 
you're  only  a  bank  clerk.  But  wait,  wait  and  see  if  I 
don't  pay  your  manager  out.  And  I'll  go  straight  down 
to  the  North-Eastern  Bank  now,  and  find  out  whether 
Mr.  Berryman  has  forbidden  his  cashier  to  lend  Mr. 
Normanby  and  his  daughter  money.  And  when  we  do 

come  into  our  fortune "  Miss  Normanby's  dignity 

suddenly  left  her  as  she  noted  the  momentary  expression 
of  curiosity  that  crossed  the  cashier's  anguished  fea- 
tures. She  not  only  drew  a  grimace  but  thrust  out  her 
tongue. 

"  Ha  ha !  "  she  mocked.  "  You  thought  you  were 
going  to  find  out  something  for  your  sneak  of  a  mana- 
ger. But  you  won't  find  out  till  it's  too  late.  And  I'll 
be  even  with  him  more  than  that,  too ;  you  see  if  I  don't. 
You  tell  the  old  beast  to  look  out,  that's  all ! " 

A  tempest  of  skirts  and  yellow  curls  swept  through 
the  Bank  doors  and  almost  overwhelmed  the  entering 
manager  on  the  steps. 

Heedless  of  his  hat,  which  was  busy  trying  to  attain 
stable  equilibrium  in  the  dustiest  corner  of  the  porch, 
the  manager,  happily  ignorant  of  her  destination,  stood 
gazing  after  Miss  Normanby's  flying  figure. 

Seemingly  her  indignation  had  not  long  interfered 
with  her  spirits.  Fifty  yards  down  the  street  she 
swooped  down  on  a  small  child  grubbing  in  the  roadway, 
bore  it  with  a  yell  of  triumph  arm-high  above  her  head 


84.         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

into  a  place  of  safety,  and  then  comforted  the  alarmed 
youngster's  fears  with  a  halfpenny  disinterred  from  a 
miscellaneous  collection  of  rubbish  out  of  the  pocket 
of  her  skirt.  The  startled  mother,  running  to  the  door, 
smiled  to  find  it  was  "  only  Miss  Nora,"  and  returned 
a  delighted  curtsy  to  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand  from  the 
young  lady,  then  half-way  down  the  street,  stalking  old 
Henry  Adams,  the  town  bellman,  to  whom  she  admin- 
istered a  smack  on  the  shoulder  that  nearly  made  him 
swallow  his  clay  pipe.  The  remaining  portion  of  the 
street  she  covered  walking  backwards,  in  peals  of  de- 
lighted laughter  at  the  old  man's  spluttering  indigna- 
tion, and  then  disappeared  round  the  corner  in  hot 
pursuit  of  a  stray  cat. 

The  manager  picked  up  his  hat  slowly  and  entered  the 
Bank,  pensively  brushing  off  the  results  of  his  encounter 
with  Miss  Normanby. 

Mr.  Jackson  braced  himself  for  the  inevitable  ex- 
planation ;  but  the  manager  spoke  first. 

"  By  Jove,  Jackson,"  he  said,  "  that's  a  lovely  girl. 
I've  just  been  watching  her  go  down  the  street,  and  she 
moves  like  a  young  goddess.  She's  as  lithe  as  a  panther, 
and  as  straight  as  —  You  remember  how  Ulysses  com- 
pares Nausicaa  to  '  a  young  sapling  of  a  palm-tree 
springing  by  the  altar  of  Apollo.'  Ever  read  the 
Odyssey  ?  No  ?  Much  wiser  not.  You'll  be  a  far  bet- 
ter banker.  But  that's  what  came  into  my  mind.  *  A 
young  sapling  of  a  palm-tree.'  We  don't  worship 
Apollo  nowadays,  Jackson,  my  son,  but,  by  Gad,  we 
have  as  pretty  girls  as  ever  lived  in  ancient  Greece ! 
Pass  me  over  yesterday's  cash-book." 

The  manager  devoted  himself  alternately  to  medita- 
tion and  long  tots  while  Jackson  attended  to  a  small 
spurt  of  customers,  and  then  resumed  his  subject  with 
an  air  of  rather  more  detachment. 

"  It's  a  great  matter,  too,  Mr.  Jackson,  to  have 
reached  a  middle  period  of  life,  when  one  can  regard  a 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         85 

vision  like  that  purely  as  an  amateur,  without  a  trace  of 
either  desire  or  envy.  I  can  look  on  with  a  merely 
benevolent  interest  at  your  little  affair.  By  the  way, 
had  you  any  luck  in  the  inquiry  I  suggested  to 
you?" 

Mr.  Jackson  reflected  swiftly  whether  it  would  be 
possible  to  conceal  what  had  happened,  or  whether  he 
had  better  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  disaster.  He  con- 
cluded that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  tell  all,  then 
took  fright  and  began  to  temporize. 

"  There's  no  doubt,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  there  is 
money  coming  to  the  family." 

"  Well  done,"  said  the  manager.  "  I  knew  you  were 
the  man  for  the  job.  You  didn't  happen  to  find  out 
the  amount  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  able  to  manage  that,  sir,"  answered  Jack- 
son, with  the  air  of  one  of  whom  too  much  was  being 
asked. 

"  Or  any  hint  as  to  the  source  ?  "  inquired  the  man- 
ager. 

"  She  was  very  —  very  reticent,"  stammered  Jack- 
son, dropping  his  pen  and  picking  it  up  to  obtain  an  ex- 
cuse for  his  scarlet  face.  "  The  fact  is,  sir,  she  rather 
resented  my  asking.  I  think  it  was  a  mistake  to  ask 
her,"  he  went  on  quickly,  beginning  to  see  a  glimmer  of 
daylight.  "  She  seemed  to  be  quite " 

The  long-suffering  doors  flung  back  to  their  widest 
and  clashed  together  again  hastily,  doubtless  in  the  hope 
of  embracing  Miss  Nora  Normanby.  But  she  was  al- 
ready in  the  middle  of  the  floor  executing  a  war  dance 
with  a  crumpled  handful  of  white  paper  brandished 
above  her  head. 

"  Do  you  see  that,  Jacks,"  she  chanted.  "  Do  you 
see  that  ?  Fifty  pounds,  and  without  any  airs  and  ques- 
tioning and  humbug.  He  didn't  even  wait  to  be  talked 
nicely  to.  But  I'll  do  it  all  the  same,  if  it's  only  to 
spite  you.  And  you  can  tell  your  old  fossil  of  a  man- 


86         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

ager  that  there's  no  need  to  forbid  you  to  give  money  to 
the  Normanby's,  for  they  can  get " 

At  this  stage  of  her  paean  Miss  Nora  became  aware  of 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Wildridge,  and  for  perhaps  the  first 
time  in  her  life  showed  signs  of  being  disconcerted.  Six 
months  before  she  would  have  merely  altered  the  direc- 
tion of  her  eloquence ;  but  dawning  adolescence  was  upon 
her  and  she  stood  tongue-tied  and  scarlet.  In  a  mo- 
ment, though,  youth  rallied.  For  an  instant  the  charm- 
ing features  concentrated  into  a  grimace  of  indescribable 
mischief  and  triumph,  the  next,  with  a  peal  of  delighted 
laughter,  she  was  gone. 

The  manager  gazed  after  her  with  an  air  of  mingled 
bewilderment  and  something  not  unlike  admiration,  and 
then  turned  to  Mr.  Jackson,  who  was  totting  his  cash- 
books  with  unusual  assiduity. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  remarked  the  manager  dryly, 
"  that  you  have  been  rather  more  —  er  —  reticent  to  me 
than  to  Miss  Normanby." 

The  unhappy  cashier  swallowed  several  times.  This 
time  he  let  his  pen  drop  involuntarily. 

"  I  was  just  leading  up  to  the  story,  sir,"  he  faltered, 
"when " 

" — When  Miss  Nora  plunged  in  medias  res.  Far 
the  best  way  to  tell  a  story,  Mr.  Jackson  —  provided 
you  mean  to  tell  it,  eh?  But  never  mind,  let  me  have 
it  now." 

He  listened  to  the  cashier's  recital  in  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware,  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  said 
with  some  severity,  "  that  not  only  the  granting  but  the 
refusing  of  loans  belongs  to  the  manager  solely." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  protested  Jackson ;  "  but  you  had 
practically  said  that  no  loan  was  to  be  given." 

"  I  didn't  instruct  you  to  convey  that  to  Miss  Nor- 
manby though.  Did  I,  Mr.  Jackson?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  admitted  Jackson. 
You  see,  my  dear  Jackson,"  went  on  the  manager 


.. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         87 

tolerantly,  "  experience  sometimes  gets  the  better  of 
youth,  even  in  matters  of  love;  and  when  it  comes  to 
finance  youth  gives  place  altogether.  In  this  little 
campaign  it  was  my  intention  to  use  you  as  a  skirmisher, 
and  to  conduct  the  main  attack  myself;  and  you  have 
committed  a  grave  error  of  judgment  in  forestalling  me. 
You  will  understand  that  I  mean  to  convey  a  reproof," 
continued  the  manager  more  seriously. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  Jackson,  "  really  I  am. 
I  know  I've  made  an  awful  mess  of  the  whole  business. 
To  tell  the  truth,  sir,"  he  said,  telling  the  exact  opposite 
in  an  effort  to  rehabilitate  his  character,  "  I  thought  it 
would  get  you  out  of  a  hole  if  I  refused  her." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  the  pleasantest  task  in  the  world," 
admitted  the  manager ;  "  but  it's  not  the  pleasant  part 
of  my  work  that  I'm  paid  for.  And,  by  Jove,  Jackson, 
I  don't  know  how  you  had  the  heart  to  do  it.  Ten 
years  ago  I  could  hardly  have  done  it  myself.  Gad, 
when  I  think  of  the  pair  of  blue  eyes  she  has  in  her 
head  —  just  sparkling  with  fun  and  mischief  and  vital- 
ity. I  wish  you  every  good  fortune,  Jackson,  my  boy ; 
but  I'm  not  sure  that  it's  a  bank  clerk's  job.  A  glori- 
ous creature  like  that  deserves  something  better  than  a 
mere  quill-driver.  It's  ranging  the  plains  of  the  West 
she  was  intended  for,  not  frowsing  over  scandal  tea- 
parties  in  a  country  town.  At  present  there's  some 
compatibility  between  you,  but  where  will  you  be  beside 
her  when  you've  polished  an  office-stool  for  ten  years. 
Look  at  me,  for  example  " —  and  the  manager  waved 
an  expressive  hand  — "  and  I've  been  a  bit  of  an  athlete 
in  my  time:  two  stones  too  heavy  now  and  growing 
quite  flabby.  I  must  get  out  my  gloves  again.  Can 
you  box,  Jackson  ?  " 

"  I've  never  tried,  sir,"  answered  Jackson  cau- 
tiously. 

"  Do  you  swim  then,  or  play  cricket  or  football  or 
hockey  —  anything  active?  " 


88         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  I've  not  done  much  in  that  line  since  I  came  to  the 
country,"  said  Jackson. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  do  then,"  cried  the  manager, 
"  to  keep  yourself  a  man  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  a  dog,"  said  Jackson  sheepishly. 
"  I  go  out  ratting  a  good  deal." 

"  Excellent  exercise  for  the  rats,"  answered  the  man- 
ager, "  but  not  much  for  you.  If  you  can't  do  better 
than  that  I'll  not  let  you  have  her." 

"  I've  dished  myself  with  her,  anyhow,"  said  the  cash- 
ier mournfully. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  you,"  answered  the  manager.  "  We'll 
both  recover  the  lost  ground.  But  do  you  stick  to  the 
love  and  I'll  look  after  the  banking.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is,  Jackson,  my  son?  It's  well  that  I've  come  to 
the  age  of  philosophy  and  common  sense,  or  I'd  be 
tempted  to  look  after  both  ends  of  the  job  myself." 

Mr.  Jackson  smiled  inwardly,  and  forbore  to  mention 
Miss  Normanby's  declaration  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOR  the  next  few  days  the  great  Normanby 
rumor  suffered  a  lull.  In  twenty-four  hours 
at  the  hands  of  the  experienced  gossips  of 
Portnamuck  it  had  gone  through  all  the  permutations 
and  combinations  possible  in  the  absence  of  fresh  infor- 
mation, and  fresh  information  was  not  to  be  had.  Mr. 
Jackson  was  drawn  several  times  and  proved  a  blank. 
The  natural  inference  was  that  he  knew  a  great  deal 
more  than  he  would  tell;  that,  however,  was  at  best  a 
negative  result  and  gave  little  satisfaction.  True,  the 
cobbler  had  seen  Miss  Nora's  movements  about  the 
Bank;  but  then  Miss  Nora  had  been  a  good  deal  about 
the  Bank  lately.  Then  her  visit  to  the  opposition 
Bank  transpired,  and  some  were  of  opinion  that  this 
indicated  a  rebuff  to  Mr.  Jackson's  firm.  Mr.  Berry- 
man,  however,  when  sounded,  turned  out  not  merely  un- 
communicative but  actually  surly,  and  that  to  a  quite 
considerable  depositor.  An  immediate  triumph  for  him 
was  clearly  out  of  the  question.  The  general  assump- 
tion was  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  struggle  with  Mr. 
Wildridge  for  the  new  business,  and  had  found  Mr. 
Jackson  a  lion  in  the  path. 

Mr.  Sharpe,  appealed  to,  was  concise  as  to  the  duty 
of  minding  one's  own  business;  the  seedsman  yielded 
nothing  but  dark  hints  that  nothing  fortunate  could 
happen  to  the  town  of  Portnamuck  since  he  might  indi- 
rectly profit  by  it,  and  made  obscure  references  to  the 
prophet  Jonah.  The  blacksmith  was  referred  to  by  a 
local  epigrammatist  as  talking  a  good  deal,  but  not  say- 
ing very  much;  and  Mr.  Finnegan  refused  to  discuss 

89 


90          MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

anything  at  all  but  his  grievance  against  the  landlord  of 
the  hotel,  a  spot  which  he  declared  in  various  forms  of 
circumlocution  he  would  never  enter  again. 

It  was  observed,  however,  that  after  three  days'  pen- 
ance on  inferior  whisky  he  began  once  more  to  pay  his 
nightly  visits  to  Michael's ;  and  one  or  two  daring  ir- 
ruptions of  the  non-elect  into  the  bar-parlor  were  re- 
ceived so  coldly  by  the  landlord  and  an  assembly  evi- 
dently interrupted  in  an  important  discussion,  that  it 
was  shortly  concluded  that  great  events  were  pending, 
but  that  Michael's  authority  was  being  exercised  with 
even  more  than  usual  severity  to  prevent  the  public  re- 
ceiving their  meed  of  news. 

There  was  talk  among  the  more  fiery  spirits  of  a 
transfer  of  business  to  the  house  of  Gerahan,  but  unfor- 
tunately for  the  proprietor  not  even  by  the  very  e3> 
tremity  of  politeness  can  a  man  add  ten  years  to  the  age 
of  his  whisky.  The  verdict  of  the  connoisseurs  went 
against  him^  and  the  seceders  returned  to  the  Family 
Hotel  to  try  pumping  Terry.  But  Terry  proved  ut- 
terly dry  even  after  the  customary  expedient  of  pouring 
in  a  little  liquid,  and  explained  the  reason  to  some  of  his 
cronies. 

"  I've  had  the  divil's  own  row  wid  the  boss,  boys,"  he 
said,  "  an'  all  through  lyin'  down  in  the  well  av  the  stairs 
the  other  night  for  a  wink  av  sleep  whin  I  was  tired; 
an'  small  wondher  too,  me  runnin'  up  an'  down  the 
same  stairs  like  a  shadow  on  the  walls.  I  was  all  right 
if  I'd  brought  in  me  feet  wid  me,  but  I  left  thim  out  in 
the  passage,  an'  the  big  man  comin'  back  in  a  rage  from 
clearin'  the  bar  — 'twas  the  night  he  had  the  word  or  two 
wid  Misther  Finnegan  the  dhraper  —  bedambut  he  fell 
over  thim  an'  took  three  bannisthers  an'  eighteen  inches 
of  the  rail  out  av  the  stairs  thryin'  to  save  himself 
fallin',  an'  with  it  all  near  brained  himself  on  the  skirt- 
in'-board  av  the  far  wall.  'Twas  a  marcy  he  did,  for 
the  dunt  he  got  clean  bamboozled  him,  an'  they  had  to 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         91 

put  him  to  bed  on  the  parlor  sofa,  for  he  could  hardly 
walk,  and  the  divil  a  less  than  a  steam-crane  would  ha' 
hoisted  the  same  carcase  up  to  the  first  floor. 

"  But  whin  he  got  at  me  in  the  mornin',  he  mesmerized 
me,  I'm  tellin'  ye.  An'  whin  he  found  out  in  the  coorse 
av  the  day  that  it  was  all  through  a  bit  av  information 
I'd  been  givin'  to  wan  or  two  like  yourselves  that  ould 
Finnegan  got  the  start  av  him,  he  was  like  a  guldherin' 
elephant,  stampin'  about  the  house.  I  could  tell  ye 
plenty,  boys ;  but  it's  not  me  place  I'd  be  losin'  if  I  did, 
it's  me  life.  There's  big  men  that's  that  easy-goin'  an' 
good-natured  the  sting  av  a  wasp  would  only  break  them 
into  a  smile ;  but  a  wicked  big  man's  a  holy  terror,  an' 
bedambut  himself's  wan  av  the  wicked  wans." 

Not  even  porter  availed  to  move  Terry  from  his  vow 
of  silence.  For  ten  miles  or  more  round  the  town  of 
Portnamuck  Rumour  flew  along  the  main  roads  —  with 
added  swiftness  on  market  days  —  and  made  her  way 
slowly  but  persistently  on  foot  up  by-lanes  and  glens ; 
but  in  the  town  itself  after  a  week  or  so  she  may  be  said 
to  have  slept,  albeit  with  one  eye  open. 

All  the  manager's  blandishments  failed  to  induce  his 
cashier  to  face  Miss  Nora  again ;  and  when  he  resolved 
to  take  the  matter  into  his  own  hands  and  call  on  Mr. 
Normanby,  he  was  nonplussed  by  the  news  that  the  old 
gentleman  had  contracted  a  feverish  cold,  and  was  not 
likely  to  be  seen  about  for  at  least  a  fortnight. 

In  the  meantime  Miss  Nora  brooded  revenge.  Jack- 
son she  forgave  readily  enough,  partly  on  account  of 
recent  comradeship,  and  partly  because  she  realized  his 
subordinate  position.  His  temporary  assumption  of  an 
authority  he  did  not  possess  she  set  down  to  her  influ- 
ence over  him,  and  counted  rather  a  virtue.  The  man- 
ager was  in  her  eyes  the  real  offender ;  and  the  momen- 
tary embarrassment  she  had  suffered  under  his  gaze  was 
an  added  wrong  to  avenge.  Before  the  manager's  of- 
ficial dignity  she  had  felt  herself  a  schoolgirl  again ;  and 


92         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

only  a  schoolgirl's  attempt  to  overturn  his  dignity  oc- 
curred to  her  at  last. 

The  manager  had  just  settled  to  his  after-dinner  pipe 
one  evening,  and  Jane  had  just  settled  to  a  good  scrub- 
bing of  the  kitchen  oilcloth,  when  a  knock  came  to  the 
hall  door.  If  we  suppose  Jane's  face  to  be  the  map  of 
the  world,  and  British  possessions  to  be  colored  black, 
she  added  to  the  Empire  a  continent  at  least  as  large  as 
Africa  in  a  hasty  attempt  to  rub  away  a  smudge  of 
which  she  was  particularly  conscious,  and  ran  to  open 
it.  She  found  on  the  steps  Miss  Nora  Normanby  laden 
with  a  large  basket. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  the  young  lady  hurriedly,  "  will 
you  give  this  basket  of  plums  to  Mr.  Wildridge  with  Mr. 
Normanby's  compliments.  And  will  you  take  it  straight 
up  to  him  now  —  just  at  once.  It's  most  important. 
Mr.  Normanby  wishes  him  to  get  them  immediately. 
You  won't  forget,"  said  Miss  Normanby  rather  breath- 
lessly, turning  to  go  down  the  steps.  "  Take  them 
straight  up  now.  I  saw  him  in  the  dining-room."  And 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  plunged  down  the 
steps  and  vanished. 

Jane  carried  the  basket  thoughtfully  to  the  kitchen, 
and  setting  it  down  in  a  chair  regarded  it  with  strong 
disapproval. 

"  I  wonder  now,"  she  communed  with  herself  —  "I 
wonder  now  what  she's  up  to.  Why  should  she  be  in 
such  a  hurry  about  the  basket  goin'  up  to  him  when  she 
didn't  wait  to  hear  what  he  said?  You'd  think  it  was 
something  they  were  givin'  Master  Anthony.  A  wheen 
o'  plums,  green  trash  too,  I'm  sure.  I  suppose  she 
thought  I'd  maybe  eat  them.  An'  nosin'  about  the 
place,  too,  lookin'  where  he  was " 

A  dreadful  uneasiness  assailed  Jane.  Was  it  possible 
that  after  having  apparently  outgrown  the  skittishness 
of  youth  and  settled  into  secure  bachelorhood,  Master 
Anthony  was  looking  after  the  girls  again?  At  any 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         93 

rate  this  looked  as  if  the  girls  were  looking  after  him. 
She  recalled  Miss  Normanby's  confusion,  her  anxiety 
that  the  basket  should  go  straight  to  the  manager's 
hands,  and  a  horrid  thought  entered  her  mind.  Could 
there  be  a  note  concealed  in  the  basket?  But  she  would 
soon  find  that  out.  The  kitchen  table  was  encumbered 
with  a  large  tray  of  unwashed  dinner  dishes.  She 
seized  the  tray  and  turned  towards  the  pantry. 

At  this  moment  a  large  rat  nosed  its  way  out  from 
the  leaves  covering  the  basket  of  plums,  and  dropped 
with  a  thud  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

Jane  looked  over  her  shoulder  hastily ;  the  rat  and  she 
stared  at  each  other  for  a  couple  of  seconds  in  a  mutual 
paralysis  of  terror;  but  Jane  recovered  first.  High 
above  the  catastrophe  of  his  dining-service  her  shriek 
simultaneously  reached  Mr.  Wildridge  in  the  room  above 
and  Miss  Nora  Normanby  on  the  opposite  pavement. 

During  Jane's  meditation,  Miss  Normanby  had  been 
contemplating  on  the  blind  the  shadow  of  the  peaceful 
smoker  in  the  dining-room,  at  first  with  hope,  and  then 
with  disgust  as  she  realized  that  her  oriders  had  not  been 
carried  out,  and  that  her  little  plot  was  in  danger  of 
failure.  She  knew  the  habits  of  her  pet  rat  too  well  to 
hope  that  his  curiosity  would  let  him  remain  long  in  the 
basket  after  it  had  come  to  rest.  Her  last  hope  van- 
ished with  Jane's  outcry  and  the  crash  of  delf.  The 
crash  was  some  consolation  to  her. 

"  At  any  rate,"  she  thought,  "  there's  some  of  his 
dishes  broken ;  and  he'll  get  a  bit  of  a  shock  yet.  He's 
sure  to  run  down  and  see  what  has  happened." 

But  the  manager  was  a  very  placid  person  when  his 
pipe  was  smoking  sweetly,  and  he  showed  no  signs  of 
moving. 

He  had  heard  both  the  crash  and  the  shriek. 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  old  girl,"  he  thought,  "  that  sounds 
like  half  the  dishes  in  the  pantry.  I'd  better  pretend  I 
haven't  heard.  Thank  heaven  and  my  Uncle  Joseph  I 


94          MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

can  buy  more."  And  he  settled  himself  in  his  chair 
again. 

But  the  first  piercing  shriek  was  succeeded  by  a  series, 
interspersed  with  sharp  yelps.  The  manager  distin- 
guished his  own  name. 

"  Confound  it,"  he  said,  rising  hastily,  "  I  suppose  she 
has  cut  the  foot  off  herself.  All  right,  Jane,  I'm  com- 
ing," he  cried  as  he  hurried  down  the  stairs. 

Miss  Normanby  immediately  rushed  across  the  road 
and  took  up  her  station  under  the  kitchen  window,  which 
opened  on  the  street,  and  waited  gleefully  for  his  advent, 
quite  unmoved  by  the  anguished  cries  of  Jane.  She  was 
never  given  to  do  things  by  halves ;  and  in  her  con- 
demnation of  the  manager  included  his  whole  household. 
In  addition  she  had  resented  Jane's  suspicious  looks  at 
the  door. 

Her  only  regrets  were,  first,  that  she  wasn't  able  to 
see  the  fun  as  well  as  hear  it ;  and,  secondly,  that  she  had 
no  companion  with  whom  to  divide  the  enjoyment. 
Even  her  long  legs  failed  to  hoist  her  up  to  the  window- 
sill;  and  she  thought  regretfully  of  her  rupture  with 
Jackson,  and  reflected  that  she  couldn't  share  the  joke 
with  him  next  day. 

Meantime  things  were  moving  swiftly  in  the  kitchen. 
The  rat,  after  a  narrow  escape  from  being  annihilated 
by  a  falling  soup-tureen,  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
kitchen  in  the  circumstances  was  no  place  for  him,  and 
started  for  the  door  into  the  hall.  Unhappily  Jane 
started  for  the  door  at  the  same  instant.  The  rat  was  a 
winner  from  the  first,  and  would  have  easily  made  his 
escape  but  for  his  enemy  the  soup-tureen,  which  had  in- 
dustriously anointed  the  line  of  Jane's  retreat.  Up 
flew  Jane's  heels ;  she  shot  across  the  remaining  distance 
and  hurtled  against  the  half-open  door,  cutting  off  the 
rat's  retreat  and  a  portion  of  his  whiskers  at  the  same 
time,  so  narrow  was  his  second  escape  from  destruction. 
What  passes  in  a  rat's  mind  must  necessarily  be  difficult 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK         95 

to  human  conjecture;  but  it  is  to  be  assumed  that  after 
momentary  contemplation  of  Jane's  kicking  heels  he 
concluded  the  yelling  end  of  her  to  be  less  threaten- 
ing ;  for  he  relieved  himself  of  her  dangerous  proximity 
by  scrambling  hastily  across  her  face  and  scuttering  for 
the  pantry.  Jane's  agony  of  soul  during  this  maneuver 
is  only  to  be  imagined,  but  her  vocal  expression  of  it 
brought  the  manager  down  the  last  half-dozen  steps  at 
one  bound.  It  is  a  singular  instance  of  conformity  to 
sex  habit  that,  though  the  rat  had  run  over  Jane's  face, 
when  the  manager  had  with  difficulty  gained  entrance 
into  the  kitchen  he  found  her  lying  on  the  floor  yelling 
murder  with  her  petticoats  tightly  wrapped  about  her 
ankles. 

"  In  the  name  of  goodness,  Jane,  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  cried  the  manager,  pulling  her  to  her  feet. 

*'  Oh,  Master  Anthony,  dear,"  sobbed  Jane,  pushing 
past  him  to  the  door,  "  let  me  out  quick ;  there's  a  rat 
in  the  kitchen." 

"  Rubbish,  woman,"  cried  the  manager  after  her. 
"  Here,  come  back  and  show  me  where  you  thought  you 
saw  it." 

But  Jane  was  at  the  first  landing  in  a  couple  of  leaps, 
and  thrust  over  the  banisters  a  face  that  between  soup, 
smuts,  and  weeping  was  barely  human-looking. 

"  Not  for  a  hundred  pounds,  Master  Anthony,  not 
for  all  you  could  give.  I  tell  you  I  saw  it.  It  came 
out  of  the  basket.  Get  the  police.  Get  Mr.  Jackson's 
dog.  I'm  goin'  to  lock  meself  in  my  room.  Oh,  Mas- 
ter Anthony,  dear,  the  dirty  brute  run  over  me ! " 

Left  to  himself  the  manager  cogitated  for  a  moment 
or  two.  It  was  possible  there  was  a  rat  in  the  kitchen ; 
and  if  so  his  duty  as  a  man  and  citizen  was  to  kill  it 
at  once.  But  in  the  first  place  Mr.  Wildridge,  like  most 
men  of  reading  and  reflection,  had  a  profound  objection 
to  depriving  any  living  creature  of  the  existence  that 
he  relished  so  keenly  himself;  and  in  the  second  place 


96         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

there  was  hardly  any  other  animal  that  he  wouldn't 
rather  have  undertaken  the  killing  of  than  a  rat. 

He  peered  cautiously  into  the  kitchen.  The  debris  of 
the  dinner-service  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  the 
valiant  soup-tureen,  a  little  in  advance  of  the  main  body 
of  wreckage,  still  industriously  greasing  the  tiles  within 
as  wide  a  radius  as  it  could  reas  mably  be  expected  to  do 
with  a  thick  soup.  This  circumstance  alone  made  the 
ground  highly  unfavorable  for  the  contest.  Then  there 
was  a  dresser,  and  a  cupboard,  both  providing  good 
cover  beneath  them ;  and  beyond,  the  gaping  pantry,  at 
present  devoid  of  its  door,  which  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
local  carpenter.  Obviously  in  such  a  field  one  man  could 
not  cope  with  a  rat.  Jane's  suggestion,  the  manager 
reflected,  was  an  excellent  one ;  he  would  go  for  Jackson 
and  his  dogs.  This  would  deliver  him  from  the  un- 
pleasant necessity  of  executing  justice  in  person,  and 
rehabilitate  him  somewhat  as  a  sportsman  in  the  eyes 
of  his  cashier,  to  whom  he  had  imparted  his  distaste  for 
rats.  And  he  would  behave  handsomely  to  the  rat,  and 
leave  the  back  door  open  when  the  dogs  did  come. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  manager  ran  quickly  upstairs  for  his  pipe, 
and  descended  equally  hastily,  lighting  it  by 
the  way  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  life,  lest  his 
resolution  should  fail  him  if  he  dallied.  But  as  he 
opened  the  front  door  he  paused.  Could  he  be  sure 
that  he  would  display  sufficient  remorselessness  in  the 
hunt?  He  knew  very  well  that  his  sympathies  would 
be  with  the  victim ;  and  if  he  allowed  that  to  be  seen  his 
prestige  with  Jackson  would  suffer  further.  In  his 
preoccupation  he  missed  the  flying  figure  of  Miss  Nor- 
manby,  who  had  been  taken  in  flank  by  the  opening  of 
the  hall  door,  in  the  middle  of  an  attempt  at  escalading 
the  kitchen  window-sill. 

Just  then  he  was  saluted  by  the  "  Good  night,  sir ! " 
of  Mr.  Denis  O'Flaherty,  on  the  way  home  with  his 
tools  from  a  country  job. 

Here  was  the  very  man,  horny-handed  and  callous, 
and  furnished  with  weapons  of  offense.  The  manager 
ran  down  the  steps. 

"O'Flaherty,"  he  cried.  "O'Flaherty.  Come  in 
for  a  minute." 

The  blacksmith's  heart  leaped  at  the  sound.  He  had 
been  engaged  all  day  in  the  very  dry  job  —  as  regards 
the  throat  —  of  fitting  a  kitchen-range,  and  his  gullet 
was  a  Sahara.  As  he  mounted  the  steps  behind  Mr. 
Wildridge  he  had  no  misgivings.  The  manager  was 
bound  to  be  asking  him  in  for  a  drink.  What  kind  of 
whisky  a  bank  manager  drank  he  could  only  surmise; 
but  it  was  surely  something  beyond  the  ordinary  imag- 
inings of  a  blacksmith.  Mr.  O'Flaherty  essayed  a  swal- 

97 


98         MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

low,  the  better  to  realize  his  extremity  of  drought ;  and 
the  deposits  of  the  Downshire  Bank  were  as  good  as  in- 
creased by  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 

The  manager  closed  the  hall  door  gently  and  put  a 
finger  to  his  lips.  "  As  quietly  as  you  can,  O'Flaherty," 
he  whispered.  "  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  hand. 
There's  a  rat  in  the  kitchen." 

No  better  aid  to  outward  dissimulation  of  the  feelings 
than  a  day's  work  in  a  country  kitchen  fireplace  can  be 
imagined ;  but  if  the  manager  had  not  been  so  wrapped 
up  in  the  impending  struggle  he  must  have  discerned 
even  below  the  soot  that  encrusted  the  blacksmith's  face 
the  workings  of  his  soul. 

But  all  unconscious  he  moved  on  to  the  kitchen,  ex- 
plaining the  situation  as  he  went,  the  blacksmith  blas- 
pheming silently  in  his  rear,  and  revolving  in  his  mind 
the  dark  possibility  of  the  manager's  being  a  teetotaller. 

"  If  he's  anywhere  he's  in  the  pantry,"  said  the  black- 
smith, surveying  the  ground  without  enthusiasm. 
"  Wait  till  I  get  my  big  pincers.  Now  for  a  light,  and 
hold  it  behind  me.  If  I  miss  do  you  put  your  foot  on 
him." 

The  manager's  flesh  crept  at  the  thought,  but  he  fol- 
lowed the  blacksmith  with  an  outward  show  of  resolu- 
tion as  the  man  of  iron  strode  savagely  to  the  pantry 
doorway. 

Mr.  O'Flaherty's  chagrin  vanished  like  a  wreath  of 
morning  mist  as  he  crossed  the  threshold.  The  rays  of 
the  candle  glowed  warmly  on  a  flask  on  the  top  pantry 
shelf.  From  its  shape  he  knew  it  could  contain  but  one 
liquor;  and  the  label  told  him  that  it  was  of  an  age 
and  mellowness  such  as  seldom  gratifies  a  blacksmith's 
palate. 

The  muscles  swelled  in  the  exultant  Denis'  hand  as 
he  gripped  his  pincers  afresh. 

"  Hold  up  the  candle,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  an'  if  I  get 
within  arm's-length  of  him  he's  a  dead  rat ! " 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK          99 

The  first  investigations  yielded  no  result. 

"Do  you  think  he'd  be  here  at  all?"  asked  Denis, 
pausing  in  dubiety.  "Wheesht!  By  the  Lord  Harry 
there's  his  tail  behind  the  bread-crock !  Watch  with  the 
light  now  while  I  move  it." 

The  blacksmith  crept  cautiously  towards  the  crock, 
the  manager  drew  back  a  step  or  two.  There  was  a 
clatter  of  earthenware,  a  scurry,  an  oath.  A  shower  of 
sparks  flew  off  the  tiled  floor;  two  loaves  of  bread 
bounded  pensively  between  the  halves  of  the  broken 
crock. 

61 1  just  missed  him,"  said  the  disappointed  black- 
smith. "  Ye  shouldn't  have  moved  the  light.  Steady 
again,  he's  in  the  corner  yet  —  I  see  him !  Wait  now. 
I  can  reach  him  with  a  sideways  blow.  Keep  the  candle 
out  of  my  eyes,  an'  I  can't  miss  him  this  time." 

It  is  possible  that  if  the  pincers  had  not  encountered 
a  glass  jug  in  their  upward  course  the  blacksmith  would 
have  made  his  words  good.  As  it  was  he  merely  clipped 
a  portion  of  plaster  out  of  the  wall  two  inches  above 
the  rat,  which  again  showed  his  capacity  for  grasping 
the  situation  by  darting  for  the  manager's  legs.  Before 
the  blacksmith  had  picked  up  the  extinguished  candle, 
the  indefatigable  animal  was  safe  under  the  dresser. 

"  Ye  had  him,  sir,  if  the  candle  hadn't  fell,"  said  the 
diplomatic  blacksmith,  mindful  of  the  black  flask. 
"  Hold  on  till  I  poke  him  out.  Stay  you  there.  He'll 
head  for  the  pantry  again." 

"  Take  care  he  doesn't  jump  down  your  throat, 
O'Flaherty,"  said  the  manager,  as  the  blacksmith  lay 
down  on  the  floor. 

"  Divil  a  fear  of  him,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  He'd 
stick  half-roads  down,  in  the  soot.  I've  been  working 
at  a  range.  Watch  him!  Catch  him!  —  jump  on 
him !  "  he  bellowed.  "  Bad  luck  to  it,  sir,  you've  let  him 
in  again." 

"  Never  mind,  O'Flaherty,"  said  the  manager  cheer- 


100       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

fully.  "  In  the  face  of  such  an  excuse  for  a  drink  as 
you  have  it  would  be  a  sin  to  waste  time  killing  rats. 
You  might  reach  me  down  that  black  flask  from  the  top 
shelf.  I'm  going  out  to  the  yard  for  water.  Watch 
you  don't  step  on  the  rat." 

"  Sowl,  you're  a  quare  man,"  said  the  blacksmith  to 
himself  as  he  stretched  up  gruntingly  for  the  bottle. 
"  An'  me  doin'  my  best  to  step  on  it.  But  sure  I've  a 
betther  job  on  hand  now.  Will  I  bring  the  corkscrew, 
sir?  "  he  called. 

"  Aye,  do,  Denis.  Begad,  you  have  a  very  level  head 
on  you  for  a  party  like  this.  Are  you  as  good  at  the 
blacksmithing?  "  asked  the  manager,  his  spirits  rising 
as  the  prospect  of  slaughter  grew  more  remote. 
"  Come  on  up  to  the  dining-room  and  have  a  drop  in 
comfort.  N.ever  mind  your  clothes.  Any  old  clothes 
do  to  drink  whisky  in.  Come  on  now." 

"  Wait  till  I  shut  the  back  door,  or  he  might  get 
away,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  I'll  send  round  one  of  the 
childher  with  a  cage-trap  when  I  get  home,  an'  ye'll 
have  him  by  morning.  It'll  be  easier  on  the  crockery- 
ware,  I'm  thinkin';  an'  Mr.  Jackson'll  be  glad  to  have 
him  for  the  terriers." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  as  a  man  utterly  devoid  of  certain 
sporting  instincts,"  said  the  manager  to  himself,  preced- 
ing the  blacksmith  up  the  stairs,  "  that  the  simplest 
plan  of  all  would  be  to  leave  the  back  door  open." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOW  about  that  now,  Denis,"  asked  the  man- 
ager, holding  up   a  tumbler. 
^^  "  Bedad,    it's    heavy    measure,    sir,"    pro- 

tested the  blacksmith.  "  Ye  have  a  great  hand  at 
pourin'  out  a  sup  of  drink.  Here's  my  very  best  re- 
spects, an'  long  may  ye  live  to  keep  a  drop  like  it. 
Faith,  it's  as  mild  as  mother's  milk. 

"  —  I  was  sayin'  about  Mr.  Jackson.  Mind  you, 
Mr.  Wildridge,  it's  not  all  rats  with  him."  The  black- 
smith winked  portentously. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  manager.  "  I'd  be 
surprised  if  it  was.  Now  that  you  mention  it,  I  have 
seen  him  at  other  pursuits." 

"  He  only  purshoos  the  one  of  thim,"  said  the  black- 
smith; "  an'  a  minter  she  is.  But  ye'd  know  her,  sir? 
Miss  Nora,  the  ould  Rector's  daughter.  I  was  spakin' 
to  her  before  I  came  in." 

"  The  fair-haired  girl,"  said  the  manager,  with  an 
appearance  of  mild  interest. 

"  That's  her,"  answered  the  blacksmith.  "  A  great 
head  of  yellow  curls,  an'  an  eye  in  her  head  like  a 
clockin'  thrush.  She's  a  spunky  one;  she's  a  spunky 
one  is  Miss  Nora." 

"  But  she's  only  a  child,"  objected  the  manager. 
"  Her  hair's  not  up  yet." 

"  There's  not  much  of  the  child  working  her  this  last 
while,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  She  has  cut  her  coortin' 
teeth  this  twelvemonth  an'  more ;  an'  if  Mr.  Jackson  has 
the  pluck  to  go  in  strong  before  she  finds  out  there's 
anything  but  bank  clerks  in  the  world  he  might  marry 
her." 

101 


102        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  It  won't  be  for  a  year  or  two,  Denis,"  said  the  man- 
ager. "  I  doubt  she  wouldn't  be  as  easy  to  keep  as  the 
terriers." 

Mr.  O'Flaherty  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  manager. 
Was  he  being  subjected  to  an  unusually  adroit  pump- 
ing? he  speculated.  But  Mr.  Wildridge  was  puffing 
placidly  at  his  pipe,  and  made  no  further  attempt  to 
carry  on  the  conversation.  The  blacksmith  decided 
that  he  was  not  being  pumped.  Probably  the  manager 
knew  all  about  it.  But  why  not  do  a  little  pumping 
himself  ? 

"  Sure,  he'll  not  need  to  keep  her,  sir,"  he  ventured. 
"  Won't  she  be  able  to  keep  herself,  an'  him  too?  " 

"  Will  she?  "  asked  the  manager,  with  lifted  eyebrows. 
"Pass  me  over  your  tumbler  —  now,  just  a  thimbleful. 
Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I'm  sur- 
prised, I  confess." 

Mr.  O'Flaherty  eyed  him  again  dubiously;  but  the 
manager  again  left  the  move  to  him. 

"  What  about  the  fortune  the  old  man  is  gettin'  ! " 
said  the  blacksmith  at  last. 

"  Oh,  that  absurd  story,"  said  the  manager,  laughing 
heartily.  "  You  surely  don't  swallow  that,  Denis?  " 

"  It's  as  true  as  gospel,"  said  the  blacksmith  heat- 
edly. "  An'  I  know  all  about  it." 

And  before  the  blacksmith's  second  tumbler  was 
empty  he  himself  was  drained  to  the  dregs  as  far  as  his 
knowledge  of  the  Normanby  fortune  went. 

"  An'  if  you're  wise,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he  concluded, 
"  you'll  be  off  up  to  the  ould  gentleman  an'  bone  the 
money  before  Berryman  gets  on  the  track  of  it.  For 
Berryman  has  the  grip  of  a  bull-dog  when  there's  bank 
business  to  be  had.  Do  ye  know,  sir,"  he  cried  as  a 
thought  struck  him,  "  ye  should  put  Jackson  on  the  job. 
He  could  work  it  for  ye  through  Miss  Nora." 

"  It's  a  great  notion,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  cor- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       103 

dially.  "  You're  clean  lost  at  the  blacksmithing.  It's 
a  banker  you  should  have  been." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  the  gratified 
blacksmith,  "  but  I  know  a  thing  or  two ;  an'  I  know  a 
dacent  man  when  I  meet  him.  Well,  just  a  tay spoonful. 
Look  here,  Mr.  Wildridge,  don't  make  me  anything  the 
worse  of  it,  but  I  can  give  you  a  wee  tip.  We're  goin' 
to  form  a  company." 

"  A  company,  Denis  ?  "  said  the  manager. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  blacksmith,  drawing  his 
chair  nearer.  "  The  woolen  mill  ye  might  have  heard 
tell  of.  Big  Michael  is  goin'  to  be  in  it,  an'  Finnegan, 
an'  myself,  an'  McCarrison,  an'  one  or  two  others. 
We're  goin'  to  have  a  public  meetin'  some  of  these  days, 
an'  invite  Mr.  Normanby ;  an'  if  we  can  put  any  kind  of 
a  face  on  it,  an'  I  know  the  ould  gentleman  at  all,  he'll 
give  us  all  the  money  we  want  an'  more.  There's  a  for- 
tune in  it ;  an'  if  I  can  do  anything  either  for  yourself  or 
for  the  Bank  ye  can  count  on  me.  Only  we're  just 
keepin'  it  to  ourselves  as  long  as  we  can.  We  want  to 
get  our  oar  in  with  the  man  that  has  the  money  before 
everybody  gets  at  him." 

"  And  does  Mr.  Brannegan  believe  in  this  story  of  the 
fortune  then?"  asked  the  manager. 

"  He's  certain  sure  of  it,"  answered  the  blacksmith ; 
"  but  he's  going  to  run  no  risks.  The  way  Michael  puts 
it  is  this:  Ould  Mr.  Normanby  is  a  gentleman,  an'  his 
word's  as  good  as  his  bond.  If  he  pledges  himself  to 
give  us  backings  he  has  the  money  sure  enough.  An'  till 
he  does  we're  going  to  stay  on  the  safe  side  of  the  fence. 
Oh,  Michael's  not  slow ;  mind  ye,  he's  not.  Ye'd  think 
to  look  at  him  that  all  his  brains  was  under  the  waist- 
band of  his  breeches,  but  for  a  big  cow  of  a  man  he  has 
a  wondherful  head.  It's  a  pity  ye  can't  join  me  in  a 
wee  dhrop  of  this,"  said  the  blacksmith  seriously,  hold- 
ing up  his  glass.  "  It  would  be  a  great  help  to  you  with 


104        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Michael ;  an'  mind,  he'd  be  useful  in  the  present  business. 
For  if  he's  not  boss  in  it  he'll  be  nowhere." 

"  He's  a  trifle  of  an  autocrat  then?  "  said  the  mana- 
ger. "  Fond  of  his  own  way,  I  mean." 

"  A  regular  ould  Oliver  Crumwell,"  said  the  black- 
smith. "  Ye  daren't  cheep  in  yon  bar-parlor  of  his,  not 
if  ye  were  drinking  yourself  intil  the  poorhouse.  But  if 
he's  your  friend  he's  your  friend.  It's  a  mortal  pity  ye 
don't  take  a  dhrop." 

"  It'll  be  all  right,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  so  long 
as  I  buy  it  for  my  friends." 

"  It's  not  just  the  same  thing,"  answered  the  black- 
smith, shaking  his  head.  "  He  wouldn't  have  the  same 
hoult  of  ye.  When  a  man  has  got  the  length  of  seein' 
that  whisky's  not  good  for  himself,  it's  not  long  till  he 
begins  to  see  that  it's  not  good  for  his  friends.  Long 
may  it  be  till  you  come  to  that,  sir,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
rolling  a  few  drops  on  his  palate.  "  An'  in  the  mean- 
time every  wee  dhrop  ye  get  from  Michael'll  be  a  help. 
So  you  keep  in  with  him,  Mr.  Wildridge ;  for  there'll  be 
money  in  this  woolen  mill  if  the  ould  gentleman  backs  us 
up  properly." 

"  You'll  be  dependent  on  that  a  good  deal,  I  sup- 
pose," said  the  manager. 

"  If  you  said  we'll  be  dependin'  on  it  altogether," 
answered  the  blacksmith,  "  ye'd  be  nearer  the  truth. 
If  ye  have  anything  to  put  in  the  mouths  of  the  people 
of  this  town  they'll  open  them  for  it,  an'  the  divil  a 
much  more.  I  must  be  goin'  now,  an'  thank  you  kindly. 
I'll  send  round  the  trap  by  one  of  the  wee  fellows.  No 
more,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  blacksmith  with  regret- 
ful firmness.  "  I  haven't  had  my  tay  yet." 

"  I  won't  press  you  then,  Denis,"  said  the  manager. 
"  It's  not  well  to  drink  on  an  empty  stomach." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
moving  irresolutely  towards  the  door.  "  There's  no 
time  a  glass  of  whisky  will  go  further.  But  my  brains 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       105 

is  bizzin'  like  a  hive  of  bees.  I'm  sayin',  sir  " —  he 
looked  round  the  room  with  interest  as  he  got  up  — 
"  ye  have  a  most  lamentable  fine  lot  of  books  gathered 
about  ye." 

"  Not  too  bad  at  all,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  with 
visible  gratification.  He  looked  lovingly  along  his 
shelves.  "  Some  of  them,  at  any  rate.  That's  a  pretty 
bit  of  tooling,  eh? "  He  took  down  a  volume  and 
passed  his  hand  caressingly  over  the  binding.  "  Look 
at  that  work,  Denis." 

"  It's  purty,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  It  is,  purty. 
The  man  that  done  that  was  a  handy  fellow.  An'  do 
ye  mind  the  curlicues  of  it,  just  like  one  of  them  orna- 
mental gates.  If  it's  not  imperent  of  me  to  ask,  sir,  do 
ye  keep  them  for  furniture  or  for  usin'  ?  " 

"  You'll  think  it  foolish  of  me,  Denis,"  said  the  mana- 
ger ;  "  but  I  believe  I've  dipped  into  most  of  them  one 
time  or  another." 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that  at  all,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  I've  a  great  respect  for  a  man  with  a  bit  of  learnin'. 
But  your  head  must  be  gey  an'  full.  I  suppose  by  this 
time  ye  could  write  a  book  yourself  if  ye  laid  your  mind 
to  it." 

The  manager  looked  at  Denis  with  a  trace  of  diffi- 
dence. Unwittingly  the  blacksmith  had  placed  a  temp- 
tation in  his  way. 

For  years  Mr.  Wildridge  had  secretly  cherished  the 
design  of  a  translation  of  his  beloved  Horace  into  the 
vernacular,  and  had  even  completed  some  versions. 
Hitherto  a  certain  cynical  perception  of  how  one's 
friends  regard  such  an  aberration  had  enabled  him  to 
conquer  the  natural  desire  of  the  author  for  an  audi- 
ence. But  surely  here  was  a  heaven-sent  opportunity 
to  test  his  performance.  Why  not  try  it  on  the  black- 
smith, a  son  of  the  soil,  and  an  evident  master  of  the 
homely  Ulster  idiom?  He  yearned,  but  hesitated. 
Common  sense,  never  very  far  from  his  elbow,  prompted 


106       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

him  that  to  acknowledge  a  taste  for  dabbling  in  litera- 
ture was  not,  in  the  North  of  Ireland  at  least,  precisely 
the  best  means  towards  laying  the  foundations  of  a  rep- 
utation for  solidity  of  character.  The  manager  could 
have  laid  down  the  principle  —  say  to  Mr.  Jackson, 
had  that  young  man  been  bookishly  inclined  —  in  the 
most  sententious  manner.  But  the  author  prevailed 
over  the  bank  manager. 

"  Do  you  know,  Denis,"  he  said,  "  I've  had  a  notion 
of  trying  my  hand  at  one  some  time." 

"  An'  I'll  hould  ye  could  do  it  too,"  said  the  black- 
smith. "  Where'd  be  the  use  of  havin'  all  that  iron  lyin' 
round  ye  if  ye  couldn't  make  a  horseshoe.  What  would 
it  be  about  now,  sir,  if  I  might  ask?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,  Denis,"  answered  the  manager. 
"  A  few  verse  translations  —  turning  poetry  from  a 
foreign  language  into  our  own." 

"  An'  can  ye  do  that  ?  "  said  the  blacksmith  with 
seriousness.  "  Bedad,  it's  clever  of  ye.  Ye  couldn't 
give  me  a  verse  or  two  of  it  now?  I  was  a  great  man 
for  a  song  or  a  ballad  when  I  was  a  young  fellow ;  an' 
I'd  like  a  lilt  of  it  well." 

"  Sit  down,  then,  and  take  another  spoonful,"  said  the 
manager,  drawing  a  roll  of  manuscript  out  of  his  desk. 
"  It'll  comfort  you  under  a  bit  of  a  disappointment, 
Denis ;  for  I  may  tell  you  I'm  not  going  to  sing.  But 
I'll  just  read  you  a  little  translation  of  a  poem  by  one 
Horace  that  you  may  have  heard  of  before." 

"  I  have  not,  then,"  answered  Denis.  "  Who  was  he, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  He  was  an  old  Roman,  Denis,"  said  the  mana- 
ger. 

"  An'  nothing  the  worse  of  that,  Mr.  Wildridge," 
answered  the  blacksmith.  "  I'm  not  a  bit  bigoted,  mind 
ye,  but  I  give  in  I  like  to  hear  somethin'  by  one  of  my 
own  sort." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  he  was  a  Catholic,  Denis,"  said 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        107 

the  manager.  "  He  lived  long  before  the  days  of  Chris- 
tianity  " 

"  Small  blame  to  him  then,  if  he  hadn't  the  true 
faith,"  interrupted  the  blacksmith.  "  Ye  can't  eat  the 
praties  before  the  seed's  planted.  It  won't  go  too  hard 
with  him,  anyway.  They  say  the  like  of  him  goes  when 
they  die  to  Fiddler's  Green,  an'  that,  as  ye  know,  Mr. 
Wildridge,  is  a  mile  on  this  side  of  hell.  Fire  away, 
sir." 

The  manager  lifted  a  sheet  of  manuscript  and  began, 
rather  anxiously: 

"  Mark    how    Slieve    Donard    rears    his    glittering 
crest " 

"  Slieve  Donard?  "  broke  in  the  blacksmith.  "  This 
Horace  was  a  County  Down  man  then?  " 

"  Well  no,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  although  it 
would  have  been  no  disgrace  to  him.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  he  lived  in  Italy." 

"  That's  a  long  way  off,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  How  did  he  come  to  hear  of  Slieve  Donard?  Ye'd 
wonder  he  hadn't  a  lump  of  a  hill  nearer  home.  Well, 
Mr.  Wildridge?" 

"  Mark  how  Slieve  Donard  rears  his  glittering  crest, 

Thick-mantled  in  deep  snow. 

The  o'er-weighted  pine-woods  groan;  fast  bound  by 

•frost 
The  streams  have  ceased  to  flow" 

"  How  would  they,"  interposed  the  blacksmith,  "  an' 
them  all  froze.  But  it  was  no  goat's  toe  of  a  frost 
stopped  the  big  waterfall " 

*'  Drive  out  the  wintry  nip,  pile  high  the  hearth" 
the  manager  hurried  on — 


108       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  With  ashen  logs  or  beech, 
And  place  a  bottle  of  good  ten-year-old 
Here,  just  within  our  reach." 

"  D'ye  mind  that  now,"  said  the  blacksmith  with 
great  approval.  "  This  Horace  was  a  hearty  wee  fel- 
low. None  of  your  soft  stuff  for  him.  But  I  didn't 
know  people  made  whisky  so  long  ago  as  that.  Boys, 
Mr.  Wildridge,  if  somebody  had  laid  aside  a  keg  or  two 
of  John  Jamieson  in  them  days  it  would  be  the  great 
medicine  by  now.  Go  on,  sir." 

"  Come,  let  the  world  wag  as  it  will,  we'll  make 
A  jolly  roaring  night: 
Old  Nature  takes  the  weather  as  it  comes, 
And,  faith,  I  think  she's  right. 

"  What  though  to-morrow  bring  heart-scald  and  care, 
We've  no  need  now  to  fret; 

Here's  a  good  fire,  good  drink,  good  company; 
It's  not  to-morrow  yet." 

"  They  must  have  been  wirin'  in  heavy  into  the  ten- 
year-old,"  observed  the  blacksmith,  "  or  they'd  have 
knowed  that  themselves." 

"  Then  since  good  luck  has  sent  a  night  like  this 
Let's  hain  each  hour  like  gold. 
And  you,  young  folk,  go  dance,  and  laugh,  and  lo've; 
You'll  soon  enough  be  old." 

"  It's  the  truest  word  he  has  said  yet,"  remarked  the 
blacksmith.  "  Old  courtin'  is  cold  courtin'  all  the  world 
over.  And  ye  might  do  worse  than  take  that  to  your- 
self, Mr.  Wildridge." 

But  the  manager  was  rapt  in  the  ecstasy  of  the  ama- 
teur, and  only  waved  his  hand  impatiently : 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        109 

"  You  girls  get  out  and  romp;  this  is  no  time 
To  waste  on  fireside  joys. 

1  hear  some  fellows  whispering  round  the  house; 
Be  off,  and  meet  your  boys" 

"  They  wouldn't  be  long  inside,  ye  may  swear,"  inter- 
jected the  irrepressible  Denis. 

"  And  you  lads,  each  of  you  should  have  a  lass; 
We've  plenty  hereabout. 

There's  some  one  giggling  there  behind  the  door, 
Who  wants  to  be  found  out. 

"  Go  seek  her  some  brisk  chap,  and  taste  her  lips; 
She'll  not  take  it  amiss. 

Even  if  she  frowns,  don't  heed;  the  tussle  for't 
Is  better  than  the  kiss." 

"  Ah,  my  tight  fellow,"  cried  the  blacksmith  boister- 
ously, slapping  his  leg.  "  He  knowed  how  to  handle  the 
girls." 

"  I'm  afraid,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  with  depreca- 
tion, "  the  last  verse  or  two  isn't  just  the  same  as  the 
original." 

"  I  don't  care  tuppence,"  said  the  blacksmith  heart- 
ily ;  "  it's  good,  bedad  it's  good.  And  even  if  it  is  your 
own.  There's  no  tellin'  but  this  Horace  would  have  put 
it  the  same  way  if  he'd  been  a  County  Down  man." 

"  It's  a  flattering  thought,  Denis,"  said  the  manager, 
laying  down  his  manuscript  absent-mindedly.  "  *  Hor- 
ace in  the  County  Down,'  "  he  muttered ;  "  begad,  the 
very  title  for  my  book.  I  only  hope,  Denis,  that  as  I 
grow  older  I'll  have  more  sense  in  some  ways  than  he 
had." 

"Was  he  a  bit  short  in  the  wit  then?"  asked  the 
blacksmith. 

"  He  wasn't  just  as  wise  as  he  might  have  been  about 


110       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

the  girls  as  he  got  on  in  years,"  said  the  manager. 
"  It's  rather  disquieting  too ;  for  he  had  even  more  ex- 
perience than  myself." 

"  Ach,  I'd  think  nothing  of  that,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  He  had  a  good  man's  fault.  But  Lord !  look  at  the 
time.  She'll  think  a  chimley  has  fell  on  me.  Good 
night,  sir.  I'll  send  the  trap  straight  round.  An'  if 
anything  fresh  turns  up  about  the  woolen  mill  ye  can 
depend  on  me  to  let  you  know." 

The  manager  remained  at  the  hall  door  a  few  minutes 
after  Denis  had  departed,  gazing  vacantly  into  the 
night. 

"  I  wonder  now "  he  murmured  to  himself. 

He  closed  the  door  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  hall  in  deep  thought,  now  and  then  penciling  a  word 
on  the  manuscript  he  had  carried  down  in  his  hand. 

A  timid  rap  on  the  door  aroused  him. 

"  That's  a  good  boy,"  he  said  to  the  blacksmith's 
little  son.  "  I  believe  I  have  two  new  pennies  here  that 
we  made  only  this  morning.  By  George,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  carried  the  trap  into  the  kitchen,  "  I'd  for- 
gotten all  about  the  rat  —  and  the  fortune  too !  This 
won't  do,  Anthony,  my  son.  Even  if  your  uncle  Joseph 
has  left  you  six  thousand  pounds,  there's  something  due 
to  the  company.  Awake,  and  be  a  bank  manager  again. 
Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,"  and  he  stuffed  his  manu- 
script into  a  pocket.  "Come,  where's  the  cheese?  — 
and  then  for  a  good  think." 

He  baited  and  set  the  trap,  entered  into  a  treaty  — 
through  her  bedroom  door  —  with  Jane,  that  any  vic- 
tims were  to  be  removed  before  she  entered  the  kitchen 
in  the  morning,  and  then  settled  himself  to  meditate  over 
a  last  pipe. 

A  little  analysis  convinced  him  that  the  blacksmith's 
more  highly  colored  story  of  Mr.  Normanby's  good  for- 
tune did  not  differ  in  essentials  from  the  cashier's.  But 
it  was  evident  that  Michael  Brannegan,  who  was  re- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       111 

puted  a  shrewd  man,  gave  credence  to  it,  and  possibly 
Michael  had  additional  sources  of  information.  Then 
Miss  Normanby's  attempt  to  borrow  fifty  pounds  per- 
haps had  bearing  on  the  situation.  Her  father  might 
be  at  some  preliminary  legal  expenses,  and  be  unwilling 
or  unable  to  obtain  an  advance  from  the  American  firm. 
Undoubtedly  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  cumulative 
evidence  for  the  truth  of  the  rumor. 

The  manager  went  off  to  bed  regretting  more  than 
ever  that  the  negotiations  with  Miss  Normanby  had  been 
left  in  the  hands  of  his  cashier.  He  comforted  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  the  present  of  plums  showed  his 
position  in  relation  to  the  rectory  to  be  unaltered,  and 
fell  asleep  just  about  th6  time  that  Miss  Nora's  pet  rat 
decided  that  for  a  really  appetizing  supper  there  was 
nothing  to  beat  toasted  cheese. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DURING  the  next  few  days  intelligence  of  the 
Normanby  fortune  began  once  more  to  make 
ground.  Reports  originating  in  Portnamuck 
journeyed  round  the  adjacent  country  districts,  gained 
in  strength  and  variety  every  mile,  and  returned  to  the 
town  so  transformed  that  the  originators  didn't  recog- 
nize them,  and  gladly  hailed  them  as  confirmation  of 
their  own  issue.  Then  news  of  Michael  Brannegan's 
endorsement  of  the  legend  began  to  leak  out  in  spite  of 
the  landlord's  despotic  authority  over  his  vassals ;  and 
was  held  to  be  almost  conclusive.  The  patent  suspen- 
sion of  amicable  relations  between  Miss  Nora  and  Mr. 
Jackson  was  taken  as  further  evidence  in  support. 
Naturally  the  young  lady  having  come  into  a  fortune 
would  turn  up  her  nose  at  a  bank  clerk. 

But  Miss  Nora  cherished  no  such  unworthy  senti- 
ments. On  the  contrary,  having  almost  no  friends  of 
her  own  age  in  the  town  she  missed  her  pleasant  com- 
radeship with  Mr.  Jackson  keenly.  The  rupture,  too, 
prevented  her  from  ascertaining  the  fate  of  her  pet  rat ; 
and  Miss  Nora,  though  somewhat  thoughtless,  was  ten- 
der-hearted to  animals,  and  felt  more  than  a  little  con- 
science-stricken over  her  part  in  his  untimely  end,  which 
she  knew  to  be  almost  certain.  There  was  also,  per- 
haps, a  lurking  desire  to  acquire  a  fresh  grievance 
against  her  enemy  the  manager. 

And  so  after  a  few  days  Mr.  Jackson,  strolling  along 
one  morning  to  the  Bank,  received  a  resounding  slap  on 
the  back,  and  turned  round  to  find  Miss  Normanby 
standing  with  outstretched  hand. 

112 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        113 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  she  said ;  "  if  I'll  bury  the 
hatchet,  will  you?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  hesitated  a  moment.  With  the  natural 
instinct  of  the  party  to  whom  peace  is  offered,  he  felt 
inclined  to  make  a  virtue  of  concession,  and  to  improve 
his  future  position  in  the  alliance  by  standing  on  his 
dignity  a  little.  But  his  usual  boyish  good-nature  as- 
serted itself. 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Nora,"  he  said,  gripping  the  prof- 
fered hand.  "  Buried  it  is." 

"  That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Miss  Nora  off-hand- 
edly.  "  I'll  walk  as  far  as  the  Bank  with  you ;  but 
don't  let's  talk  about  the  row  or  we'll  fall  out  again.  I 
say,"  she  went  on  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  did  you 
hear  what  that  old  stick  of  a  manager  of  yours  did  with 
my  rat?  " 

Jackson  paused,  wide-eyed. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,  NWa,"  he  cried,  '*  that  it 
was  you  who  put  the  rat  among  the  plums  ?  " 

"  Did  he  spot  that  the  rat  came  in  the  plums  ?  "  de- 
manded Miss  Nora,  a  little  nonplussed. 

"  It  was  partly  through  my  dogs  sniffing  round  the 
basket  that  we  twigged  it,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  And  then  we  found  some  of  the  plums  gnawed. 
But  we  never  thought  of  the  rat  being  placed 
there  on  purpose.  What  on  earth  made  you  do  it, 
Nora?" 

"  Just  to  give  that  old  beast  of  a  manager  of  yours  a 
shock.  I  wanted  to  spite  him  some  way  or  other,  and 
I  remembered  your  telling  me  about  his  hating  rats. 
But  it  didn't  come  off,  all  through  that  inquisitive  cat  of 
a  housekeeper,  Anyhow,  she  got  a  fright  that  will  keep 
her  from  prying  for  a  bit,"  said  Miss  Nora  with  great 
satisfaction.  *'  You'd  have  heard  her  yelling  halfway 
down  the  street.  And  I  say,  Jacks  "  —  Miss  Nora 
laughed  gleefully  at  the  recollection  — "  you  should  have 
heard  the  smashing  of  dishes.  I  barked  one  of  my  shins 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

trying  to  climb  up  to  see  the  fun.  I  suppose  he  killed 
the  rat  all  right  ?  "  she  asked,  sobering  down. 

Mr.  Jackson  laughed  heartily  in  his  turn. 

"Wait  till  I  tell  you  the  joke,  Nora,"  he  cried. 
"Have  I  time?"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  have. 
Listen.  The  manager  set  a  trap  for  the  rat  and  caught 
it  right  enough.  When  I  came  in  next  morning  he  had 
the  trap  with  the  rat  in  it  on  his  desk.  Of  course  I 
thought  he  was  afraid  to  kill  it  himself,  and  was  keep- 
ing it  for  me  and  the  dogs ;  but  would  you  believe  it,  he 
wouldn't  let  it  be  killed  at  all." 

"  And  it  isn't  killed?  "  asked  Miss  Nora  incredu- 
lously. 

"  It  isn't,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson.  "  He  told  me  he 
began  to  watch  it  in  the  cage  before  I  came  in,  and  gave 
it  a  piece  of  bread;  and  when  he  saw  it  sitting  up  on 
its  hind-quarters  eating  the  bread,  and  cleaning  its 
whiskers  with  its  fore-paws  afterwards,  he  couldn't  bring 
himself  to  let  it  be  worried  by  a  dog;  and  there  it  is  in 
the  private  room.  He  feeds  it  on  oat-bread  and  cheese 
every  day,  and  is  dusting  out  the  office  himself  till  he 
gets  a  charwoman.  Old  Jane  wouldn't  go  into  the  office 
for  a  pension.  Would  you  have  believed  a  man  could  be 
such  a  silly  ass  about  a  rat?  " 

Miss  Nora  considered  for  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  know,  Jacks,"  she  said  unexpectedly,  "  he 
must  be  not  such  a  bad  sort  after  all." 

"  Good  Lord,  Nora,"  cried  the  startled  cash- 
ier ;  "  you're  not  turning  sentimental  about  rats 
too." 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Normanby  sharply. 
"  I've  killed  as  many  rats  as  ever  you  did." 

"  I  know  that,  Nora,"  interposed  Mr.  Jackson  hast- 
ily, "  but " 

"  And  if  it  goes  to  that  I'll  back  my  fox-terrier  bitch 
to  kill  rats  against  any  dog  you've  got,"  she  went  on 
truculently. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        115 

"  I  believe  she  would,"  admitted  Mr.  Jackson, 
"  but " 

"  But  you  see  this  was  my  pet  rat,"  said  Miss  Nor- 
manby ;  "  and  I  was  rather  keen  on  it." 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  a  pet  rat,  Nora,"  said  Mr. 
Jackson  apologetically. 

"  Well,  I  had,"  said  Miss  Normanby.  "  And  now 
your  manager's  got  him.  And  the  manager  can't  be 
such  a  bad  old  sport.  Do  you  think  if  I  faked  up  some 
lie  about  how  the  rat  came  there,  he'd  give  him  back  to 
me,  Jacks?  " 

"  I'm  sure  he  would,"  answered  the  cashier,  "  if  he 
knew  you  wanted  it  badly.  Look  here,  Nora,  the  man- 
ager's quite  gone  on  you." 

"  Chuck  it,  now,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  warningly. 

"  But  he  is,  though,"  persisted  Mr.  Jackson,  who  saw 
a  chance  of  undoing  his  business  error.  "  After  you 
went  out  the  other  day  he  talked  no  end  about  your  blue 
eyes,  and  said  you  were  as  straight  as  —  as  a  rush.  It 
wasn't  a  rush  exactly;  he  quoted  some  rubbish  about 
Apollo  —  but  that  was  what  he  meant.  Then  he  thinks 
the  dickens  and  all  of  your  father,"  went  on  Mr.  Jack- 
son, feeling  himself  quite  a  diplomat.  "  And " 

"  What  did  he  say  about  my  eyes  ?  "  interrupted  Miss 
Normanby. 

"  I  don't  exactly  remember,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  Something  awfully  nice,  anyway.  I  tell  you  he's  clean 
struck  on  you.  Good  gracious,"  he  cried,  "  I  must  run. 
Look  here,  I'll  tell  him  the  rat  must  have  got  into  the 
basket  himself,  and  that  you've  heard  about  it  and  came 
to  ask  me.  Come  on  in  now,  and  have  a  chat  with  him. 
He's  a  real  good  sort ;  and  if  he'd  been  in  the  Bank  the 
other  day  he'd  likely  have  given  you  the  money." 

"  Can't  possibly  go  in  now,"  answered  Miss  Nora, 
shaking  her  curls  and  pursing  up  her  mouth  with  a  dis- 
tracting air  of  importance.  "  I've  got  an  appointment 
with  Mr.  Berryman  down  at  his  bank." 


116       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"Bad  luck  to  him,"  interjected  Mr.  Jackson  under 
his  breath. 

"  I  got  a  letter  from  him  this  morning,  asking  me  to 
call  without  fail  to-day." 

"  I  say,  Nora,"  broke  in  Mr.  Jackson  appealingly, 
"  you're  not  going  to  turn  your  back  on  us,  after  you 
and  I  have  been  such  chums  ?  " 

"  You're  a  pretty  decent  chap  as  bank  clerks  go, 
Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora,  regarding  the  cashier  ap- 
praisingly ;  "  but  you  didn't  do  very  much  for  me  the 
other  day,  and  Mr.  Berryman's  cashier  did,  so  it's  up  to 
me  to  stick  to  him.  Look  here,  young  Jacks,"  she 
cried ;  "  there's  ten  striking !  You'd  better  skip  it. 
Look  out  for  me  coming  back  if  the  manager's  not 
there,  and  tell  me  what  he  says  about  the  rat.  I  don't 
want  to  face  him.  Ta-ta ;  I'm  off.  You  won't  catch  it 
either  for  being  late.  Oh  dear,  no."  And  away  went 
Miss  Normanby,  Atlantalike,  while  Mr.  Jackson  with 
less  grace  but  equal  speed  hastened  to  the  Bank  door, 
fortified  against  his  chief's  wrath  by  the  consciousness 
of  a  good  excuse. 

Discussion  of  his  news  was,  at  the  polite  but  firm  sug- 
gestion of  the  manager,  suspended  till  the  preliminaries 
of  receiving  the  public  had  been  gone  through ;  and  then 
as  usual  he  began  the  subject  himself. 

"  I'm  inclined  to  think,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  he,  "  that 
Miss  Normanby's  rat  friend  didn't  get  into  the  basket 
quite  so  unassisted  as  she  wants  to  make  out." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  she  put  it  there  on 
purpose,"  asked  Mr.  Jackson,  with  a  very  fair  simula- 
tion of  astonishment. 

"  I  don't  know  enough  about  her  yet  to  be  able  to 
guess  at  her  taste  in  presents,"  said  the  manager. 
"  She  has  never  sent  you  any  little  token  of  the  kind, 
has  she?  A  couple  of  mice,  or  a  few  cockroaches, 
say?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson.     "  To  tell  you  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       117 

truth,  sir,"  he  blurted  out,  "  she  put  the  rat  in  on  pur- 
pose to  spite  you  on  account  of  the  other  day.  But  if 
you'll  give  him  back  to  her  we'll  maybe  get  the  bulge  on 
old  Berryman  yet.  She  was  awfully  pleased  you  didn't 
kill  the  beggar,  and  now  she  wants  td"get  him  again. 
She's  coming  in  about  it  presently.  You  wouldn't  give 
her  the  fifty  pounds,  and  let  her  pay  old  Berryman  off? 
I'm  sure  now  it's  all  right  about  the  fortune.  And  if 
we  let  the  other  people  keep  in  with  her  it's  all  up  with 
our  chance  of  getting  any  business  from  the  old  man. 
Then  there'd  be  the  woolen  mill  account  too.  I'd  let 
her  have  the  money  on  chance." 

"  As  a  business  proposition,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the 
manager,  "  it's  not  to  be  considered  for  a  moment  in  the 
present  state  of  our  information.  But  she  shall  have 
her  rat.  I'll  withdraw  gracefully  when  she  comes  in; 
and  you  can  convey  the  glad  news  to  her.  You  needn't 
let  her  know  that  I'm  aware  of  how  he  got  into  the  bas- 
ket. I'm  afraid  I  was  cynical  enough  to  suspect  it,  be- 
fore you  told  me.  Timeo  Danaos  —  by  the  way,  did 
you  ever  read  the  Second  ^Eneid?  " 

"  I  never  did,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Never  mind,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager,  "  the 
rule-book  is  far  better  reading  for  a  bank  clerk  with 
matrimonial  tendencies.  By  the  way,  my  young  friend, 
if  ihe  future  Mrs.  Jackson  intends  to  keep  pet  rats,  and 
love  doesn't  drive  out  your  passion  for  terriers,  there's 
likely  to  be  stirring  times  hi  the  family.  '  Incompati- 
bility of  pets,'  I  suppose  a  jury  would  call  it.  The 
great  outstanding  point  of  the  bachelor  life,  Mr.  Jack- 
son," went  on  the  manager,  "  is  the  freedom  it  allows  to 
the  development  of  individuality.  Now  I  might  if  I 
chose  keep  pet  rats  in  every  room  in  the  house " 

"  What  about  old  Jane,  sir?  "  asked  the  cashier  with 
a  respect  a  little  tempered  by  malice. 

"  Yes,  there's  old  Jane  to  be  considered,"  confessed 
the  manager.  "  But  then  you  see  I  can  always  change 


118       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

my  Jane,  and  you,  once  you'd  got  her,  couldn't  change 
your  Nora." 

"  I  shouldn't  ever  want  to,  sir,"  said  Jackson  stoutly. 

"  It's  well  and  romantically  said,"  returned  the  man- 
ager ;  "  but  then  some  decent  man  once  thought  the  same 
about  Jane;  and  yet  he  left  her  within  two  months. 
Sentiment,  my  dear  fellow,  is  beautiful  but  evanescent, 
like  the  hair  on  the  male  human  head  "  —  the  manager 
passed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  thoughtfully  across  his 
brow  —  "  and  vanishes  about  the  same  time.  Now  here 
am  I  who  have  fairly  well  outgrown  both.  But  I  think 
I  see  our  friend  the  rat's  mistress  coming  down  the 
street.  Tell  her  I'll  send  it  round  to-night.  I'll  be  in 
the  private  room ;  and  if  there  is  any  talk  of  borrowing 
money  just  call  me  out.  A  young  man  with  a  head  of 
hair  like  yours  isn't  to  be  trusted  to  talk  business  with 
such  a  pair  of  blue  eyes." 

The  manager  vanished  into  his  private  room  just  in 
time  to  escape  the  entering  Miss  Normanby.  A  peep  as 
he  cautiously  closed  the  door  revealed  her  in  an  unex- 
pected phase,  large-eyed,  pale,  and  distressed,  almost 
tearful.  His  curiosity  was  aroused,  but  he  was  of  a 
philosophic  habit  of  mind,  and  knowing  that  he  was  sure 
to  hear  all  from  his  cashier  he  sat  down  to  steady  work 
at  the  books  he  had  carried  in. 

But  the  interview  threatened  to  be  as  protracted  as 
on  the  last  occasion  when  he  had  vacated  the  premises 
for  Mr.  Jackson's  benefit.  Customers  entered  and  de- 
parted, but  still  Miss  Normanby  held  the  field.  He 
could  hear  her  voice,  low  and  appealing,  very  different 
from  her  usual  ringing  tones.  Uneasiness  began  to  as- 
sail him.  Could  the  young  lady  be  once  more  on  bor- 
rowing bent?  And  if  so  was  Mr.  Jackson's  fortitude 
capable  of  bearing  this  second  strain?  A  vision  of  yel- 
low curls  floated  before  his  eyes  and  left  him  in  doubt. 
He  decided  to  allow  the  couple  five  minutes  more,  and 
then  to  re-enter  the  Bank  office.  He  could  not,  how- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        119 

ever,  concentrate  his  mind  on  work.  When  Mr.  Jack- 
son opened  the  door  of  the  private  room  he  found  his 
manager  engaged  in  feeding  Miss  Normanby's  pet  rat. 

"  Watch  the  little  beggar  washing  his  face,  Mr.  Jack- 
son," said  the  manager  over  his  shoulder.  "  Now 
there's  Jane,  who  places  herself  infinitely  higher  in  the 
scale  of  respectability  than  a  rat,  and  yet  he's  washed  his 
face  oftener  in  the  course  of  this  one  morning  than  Jane, 
if  we're  to  judge  by  her  appearance,  washes  hers  in  a 
month.  I  wonder " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  broke  in  the  cashier  a  little 
breathlessly ;  "  but  I  want  to  speak  to  you  at  once. 
Miss  Normanby's  just  gone  out " 

"  I  hope  you  weren't  anyway  abrupt  with  her,"  inter- 
rupted the  manager,  glancing  momentarily  at  the  office 
clock. 

"  I  couldn't  get  her  out  any  sooner,  sir,  really,"  pro- 
tested Mr.  Jackson.  "  I  say,  sir,  she's  been  in  a  most 
fearful  row  in  the  North-Eastern  Bank." 

"  Hallo ! "  said  the  manager,  becoming  alert  at  once. 
"How's  that?" 

"  It's  all  over  that  fifty  pounds  the  cashier  let  her 
have.  Old  Berryman's  mad  about  it.  He  wrote  to  her 
to  call  there  this  morning,  and  when  she  went  down  he 
brought  her  into  his  room,  and  began  to  cross-question 
her.  Of  course  she  cheeked  him  —  you  know  the  way 
she  would,  sir " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  man- 
ager; "but  I  think  I  can  guess.  Well ?  " 

"  Well,  he  turned  downright  nasty,  and  went  for  her 
about  getting  the  money  from  the  cashier  behind  his 
back,  and  told  her  she  must  either  answer  any  questions 
he  asked  or  repay  the  money;  and  when  she  said  she 
couldn't  just  at  once,  he  told  her  he'd  apply  to  her 
father,  and  that  in  the  meantime  he'd  hold  the  cashier 
personally  responsible."  Mr.  Jackson  paused  a  mo- 
ment for  breath.  "  And  as  she  was  coming  back  here 


120        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

the  cashier  ran  after  her  and  came  all  the  way  down 
the  street  with  her,  telling  her  what  an  awful  scrape  he 
had  got  into,  and  how  it  would  ruin  his  whole  career  if 
his  head  office  got  to  hear,  and  a  lot  of  snivelling  non- 
sense like  that,  and  begging  her  to  go  back  and  tell  old 
Berryman  all  he  wanted  to  know ;  and  now  she's  in  a  ter- 
rible state  about  it  all ;  for  she  told  her  father  that  she 
got  the  money  without  any  trouble,  and  that  there 
wasn't  the  slightest  hurry  about  paying  it  back,  and  the 
old  man's  so  honorable  and  proud  that  he'd  fair  break 
his  heart  if  there  was  even  a  little  trouble  about  the 
affair;  and  then  she's  afraid  she  may  have  done  the 
cashier  a  lot  of  harm  —  she's  a  real  good-hearted  sort, 
Nora  —  and  she's  wild  because  she's  under  an  obligation 
to  a  poor-spirited  creature  like  him.  Do  you  think, 
sir,"  concluded  Mr.  Jackson  with  his  last  vestige  of 
breath,  "  you  couldn't  let  her  have  the  fifty  pounds  ?  " 

The  manager  pondered  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  She's  in  an  awful  hole,  sir,"  ventured  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Did  she  tell  you  what  she  wanted  the  money  for  ?  " 
asked  the  manager. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,"  answered  the  cashier  eagerly.  "  The 
report  we  heard  is  quite  correct.  They've  come  into  a 
whole  pot  of  money,  and  the  fifty  pounds  is  wanted  for 
some  preliminary  expenses." 

"  Did  she  give  you  any  particulars  about  the  amount 
of  the  fortune  or  where  it's  coming  from?"  asked  the 
manager. 

"  She  did  not,  sir,"  answered  the  cashier,  a  little  dis- 
concerted. "  She  said  she  was  under  a  promise  not  to 
tell  anything  at  present.  But  she  pledged  her  word  to 
me  that  it  was  all  right,  and  she's  as  true  as  steel,  sir." 

"  No  doubt,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager,  "  no 
doubt.  But  on  your  own  showing  she  has  displayed  a 
certain  talent  for  concealment  from  her  father.  *  She 
has  deceived  her  father  and  may  thee.'  You've  read 
Othello,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Jackson?  " 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Well,  not  exactly,  sir,"  admitted  the  cashier.  "  But 
I've  often  intended  to." 

"  Perhaps  you're  just  as  well  not  to,"  said  the  man- 
ager. "  A  little  banking  law  would  be  far  better  for 
your  future.  Still,  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  perhaps  — 
there's  a  certain  sidelight  on  sixteenth-century  practise. 
Better  not,  though.  One  or  two  good  modern  text- 
books, and,  as  I  said  before,  the  Rule-book.  But  to  get 
back  to  Miss  Nora's  affairs.  In  the  absence  of  any 

fresh  information  I'm  afraid "  The  manager 

pursed  up  his  lips,  and  shook  his  head  gently. 

"  If  you'd  only  seen  her,  sir,"  said  the  cashier, 
"  you'd  have  been  sorry  for  her.  I'd  give  her  the  money 
myself  if  I  had  it." 

The  manager  looked  at  him  tolerantly. 

"  You'll  outgrow  these  little  weaknesses,  Jackson,  my 
boy,"  he  said.  There  was  a  tinge  of  melancholy  in  his 
smile.  "  A  hard  and  practical  world  will  help  you  to  do 
that.  At  first  you'll  be  glad,  too ;  and  then  you'll  begin 
to  be  sorry.  I'm  rapidly  coming  to  the  sorry  stage. 
But  it  doesn't  help  one  to  recover  the  first  fine  rapture  of 
romance.  Gad,  you  might  do  worse  than  give  her  the 
money,  too,  if  you  had  it.  The  look  you'd  get  from 
those  blue  eyes  would  nearly  repay  a  fellow  —  at  your 
time  of  life,  that  is,  of  course.  Blue  eyes  are  the  very 
devil,"  said  the  manager,  falling  into  a  reverie.  "  Up 
till  I  was  thirty  any  girl  with  a  really  fine  pair  could 
have  married  me,  if  she'd  only  known." 

Mr.  Jackson  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  astute- 
ness. 

"  If  you'd  seen  Nora's  to-day,  with  the  tears  stand- 
ing in  them,"  he  ventured. 

"  Poor  big  girl,"  said  the  manager.  "  Was  it  as  bad 
as  that?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  cashier.  "  She  was  fairly 
crying.  You'd  have  been  real  sorry  for  her." 

"  Anybody  would,"  agreed  the  manager.     "  She's  not 


122       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

the  sort  whose  nose  turns  red  when  she  weeps  ?  "  he  in- 
quired anxiously. 

"  I  never  noticed,"  answered  Jackson,  hesitating. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  manager.  "  If  it  did  you 
would  have  noticed.  But  let  me  think  over  this  business 
of  hers." 

The  manager  took  a  few  turns  thoughtfully  up  and 
down  the  office,  Mr.  Jackson  regarding  him  with  kind- 
ling hopefulness. 

"  I  fear  it's  not  a  case  where  I  could  risk  the  Bank's 
money,"  he  pronounced,  suspending  his  walk.  Mr. 
Jackson's  face  declared  his  disappointment. 

"  Wait  a  minute  now,"  went  on  the  manager,  raising 
a  deprecating  hand.  "  You  know,  Jackson,  my  son, 
although  I've  only  been  acquainted  with  you  a  very 
short  time,  I  take  a  great  interest  in  you  and  this  little 
affair  of  yours." 

Mr.  Jackson's  smile  was  between  himself  and  his 
Maker. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  with  an  expressionless 
face. 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  the  manager,  "  here  I  have 
come  into  quite  a  pot  of  money  for  a  miserable  old  bach- 
elor like  myself,  and  here  are  you  full  of  a  romantic 
dream  that  a  mere  matter  of  fifty  pounds  might  bring 
true.  I'll  lend  you  fifty  pounds,  to  be  repaid  at  the 
Greek  Kalends  —  maybe  you've  not  heard  of  the  Greek 
Kalends?  Well,  we'll  say  on  the  day  after  you  marry 
Miss  Nora  —  I  hope  that  will  be  a  shorter  date ;  and 
you  shall  give  it  to  her  this  evening  when  you  are  restor- 
ing her  friend  the  rat.  Send  her  a  message  to  meet 
you." 

"  You're  a  brick,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Jackson  with  enthu- 
siasm. "  She'll  be  fairly  delighted  with  you.  Old 
Berryman  won't  have  a  chance  with  you  now." 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  let  me  appear  in  the  matter," 
said  the  manager  hastily.  "  Or  the  Bank  either.  The 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

money  is  to  come  as  from  yourself.  Not  a  word  now. 
That's  the  condition." 

"  I  couldn't  possibly  do  that,"  protested  the  cashier. 
"  It  would  be  false  pretense  to  Nora.  And  she'd  never 
forgive  me  if  she  found  out,"  he  added  ingenuously. 

"  There's  no  false  pretense  about  the  matter,"  said  the 
manager.  "  You've  just  told  me  that  if  you  had  fifty 
pounds  you'd  give  it  to  her.  Very  well,  you  have  fifty 
pounds.  It's  yours  absolutely,  a  token  of  my  admira- 
tion for  —  for  your  good  taste.  I  withdraw  all  con- 
ditions. There's  nothing  to  be  found  out  now.  You 
needn't  give  it  to  Miss  Nora  if  you  don't  wish  to." 

"  But,  sir "  began  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Besides,  there's  my  position  to  be  looked  at,"  went 
on  the  manager.  "  Suppose  it  got  out  that  I  had  given 
the  money  to  Miss  Nora.  There  would  be  misconcep- 
tions about  the  affair.  This  is  a  censorious  world,  Mr. 
Jackson ;  and  if  my  observation  is  not  badly  at  fault, 
this  is  a  particularly  censorious  corner  of  it.  Not  a 
man  or  woman  in  the  town  would  believe  I  gave  the 
money  on  your  account.  If  I  wasn't  satisfied  that  I've 
outgrown  the  follies  of  my  youth  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure 
of  it  myself.  And  what  would  be  the  result  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned?  There's  not  a  family  inside  a  ten-mile 
radius  with  a  fair-haired  slip  of  a  girl  in  it  but  would  be 
sending  her  in  to  borrow  money  off  me  the  next  day. 
Why,  they'd  be  importing  them  from  Sweden!  No, 
Jackson,  my  son,"  concluded  the  manager,  "  in  common 
decency  you  must  keep  me  out  of  it." 

"  It  places  me  in  a  very  awkward  situation,"  objected 
the  cashier,  plainly  weakening. 

"  On  the  contrary  it  places  you  in  a  capital  situation. 
Strategically  you've  never  been  in  such  a  position  since 
you  entered  on  the  campaign.  Here  we  have  Miss  Nora 
'cast  down,  apprehensive,  without  —  apparently  —  a 
ray  of  hope,  when  lo !  enter  luciferously  Mr.  Ernest 
Jackson.  The  clouds  disappear,  the  difficulty  vanishes. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

If  Miss  Nora  Normanby  has  a  heart  in  her  bosom,  and 
it  doesn't  soften  to  Mr.  Jackson  in  that  moment,  I'm  a 
Dutchman,"  said  the  manager,  "  and  I'm  not.  But 
mind,"  he  added,  waving  a  forefinger  warningly,  "  don't 
let  the  opportunity  slip.  No  use  battering  down  the 
fortifications  if  you  don't  push  the  attack  home.  Close 
quarters,  my  boy,  that's  my  last  word  to  you,  close 
quarters.  And  now,  Mr.  Jackson,  not  another  word 
about  Miss  Normanby  till  work  is  over  for  the  day. 
It's  an  extraordinary  thing,"  he  added,  breaking  his 
own  rule  a  few  minutes  later,  "  how  much  she  has  bulked 
in  the  conversation  in  this  office  of  late.  Still,  no,  it's 
not  a  bit  extraordinary ;  she's  a  witch.  Gad,  if  I  were 
a  few  years  younger  I'd  be  wishing  I  was  conducting 
to-night's  operations." 

"  In  a  way  you  are,  sir,"  said  Jackson.  "  You're 
supplying  the  ammunition  anyhow." 

"  It's  a  useful  and  honorable  branch  of  the  service," 
answered  the  manager,  smoothing  down  the  lessening 
hairs  above  his  forehead  a  little  ruefully ;  "  but  I'm 
almost  tempted  to  wish  I  were  in  the  firing-line." 


CHAPTER  XV  s 

PUNCTUALLY  at  the  appointed  hour  that  eve- 
ning Mr.  Jackson  rang  the  Bank  bell.  The 
manager  opened  to  him,  and  going  into  his  pri- 
vate room  brought  out  an  oblong  brown-paper  parcel. 

"  There  you  are  now,  Jackson,"  he  said.  "  Tell  Miss 
Nora  she  may  keep  the  cage.  I'll  make  it  all  right  with 
O'Flaherty.  Do  you  know  I  feel  quite  sorry  to  part 
with  the  little  chap.  I  never  thought  I'd  live  to  become 
attached  to  a  rat  of  all  animals.  But  he  has  quite  a 
winning  way  with  him.  Then,  of  course,  one  doesn't 
like  to  part  with  a  friend's  gift." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  wasn't  meant  altogether  in  friendship, 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  tucking  the  parcel  under  his 
arm. 

"  Maybe  not,"  said  the  manager.  "  But  I  don't 
mind.  In  fact,  if  I  were  disposed  to  become  your  rival 
I  should  look  on  the  incident  as  rather  encouraging 
than  otherwise.  '  A  little  aversion  to  begin  with.' 
You  know  the  saying.  And  now,"  pulling  an  envelope 
out  of  one  of  his  pockets,  "  here's  the  source  of  your 
future  fortune,  if  you'll  only  remember  what  I  told  you 
to-day." 

"  It's  awfully  decent  of  you,  sir,"  said  the  cashier, 
taking  the  money  with  some  hesitation.  "  But  I  wish 
you  would  let  me " 

"  Not  a  word,  now,"  said  the  manager,  pushing  him 
gently  out.  "  Only  remember  my  advice,  and  act  upon 
it.  Good  night,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

Mr.  Jackson  strode  down  the  street  with  two  resolu- 
tions firmly  implanted  in  his  mind:  first,  to  act  on  his 

125 


126       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

manager's  counsel ;  and,  secondly,  at  all  risks  to  disclose 
the  source  of  the  fifty  pounds.  It  was  his  misfortune 
to  act  upon  neither. 

Miss  Nora  received  him  under  one  of  the  oil  lamps  by 
which  darkness  was  rendered  visible  in  the  streets  of 
Portnamuck.  She  hastened  to  tear  off  the  brown-paper 
wrapping,  and  after  a  course  of  investigation  that  in- 
cluded a  pretty  severe  bite  to  one  of  her  forefingers,  de- 
cided that  it  was  indeed  her  rat,  and  proceeded  to  lavish 
a  number  of  endearing  expressions  on  the  animal  which 
Mr.  Jackson,  as  a  proprietor  of  several  fox-terriers, 
thought  very  much  misapplied.  Then  she  turned  to 
him. 

"  Jacks,"  she  asked,  "  do  you  think  Mr.  Wildridge 
could  possibly  have  spotted  that  I  put  the  rat  in  the 
basket  on  purpose?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  inwardly  gave  thanks  to  the  lighting 
committee  of  Portnamuck. 

"  Oh,  he  twigged  it  at  once,  Nora,"  he  answered. 
"  But  he  wasn't  a  bit  annoyed.  Wasn't  it  decent  of 
him,  though,  not  to  kill  it ! " 

"  Maybe  he  hadn't  the  pluck  to  do  it,"  said  Miss 
Nora  doubtfully ;  "  he's  afraid  of  them,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I'd  have  killed  it  for  him  with  the  terriers," 
said  Mr.  Jackson  incautiously,  with  the  pride  of  an 
expert. 

"  You're  a  pig,  Jacks,"  declared  Miss  Nora  with  em- 
phasis. "  And  knowing  it  was  my  rat,  too.  I  wouldn't 
have  believed  it  of  you.  Yes,  you  would  now ;  you  said 
you  would,"  she  cried,  interrupting  his  protest.  "  I 
thought  that  manager  of  yours  was  a  beast,  and  he  was 
a  beast  with  me  in  ways ;  but  he's  been  real  decent  over 
my  rat,  I'll  give  in.  A  good  deal  decenter  than  you, 
with  your  blessed  old  terriers.  Good  night.  And  tell 
him  what  I  said." 

Mr.  Jackson  saw  himself  at  an  unexpected  disadvan- 
tage, and  hastened  to  play  his  trump  card. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       127 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Nora,"  he  called  after  her. 
"  There's  something  else  for  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Nora,  coming  back 
with  an  air  of  suspicion.  "  No  silly  jokes  now,  Jacks. 
Have  you  anything  for  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  paused  a  moment  before  making  his 
grand  coup,  and  wished  desperately  he  could  find  some- 
thing fitting  the  occasion.  But  inspiration  failed  him. 

"  I've  brought  you  fifty  pounds,"  was  all  he  could  get 
out;  and  he  handed  over  the  envelope  awkwardly. 

Miss  Normanby  drew  out  the  notes,  and  turned  them 
over  with  incredulity. 

"  I  say,  Jacks,"  she  breathed  in  an  awed  whisper, 
"  where  on  earth  did  you  get  them?  Did  the  manager 
send  them  to  me,  after  all?  " 

Surely  never  could  there  be  a  more  favorable  open- 
ing for  Mr.  Jackson's  disclosure.  But  he  paused  for  a 
fatal  instant. 

**  Jacks,"  cried  Miss  Nora,  and  there  was  a  note  in 
her  voice  that  Mr.  Jackson  had  never  heard  before ;  "  I 
believe  it's  your  own  money." 

She  stepped  a  little  towards  him,  her  eyes  glistening 
even  in  the  mild  radiance  of  the  Portnamuck  oil  lamp. 

No  one  who  looked  at  her  could  have  blamed  him. 
Mr.  Jackson  was  a  little  in  love,  and  had  just  been  com- 
pared unfavorably  with  his  manager.  And,  besides,  it 
was  the  manager's  orders. 

"  I  knew  you  were  in  such  a  hole,  Nora,"  he  muttered. 

Miss  Nora  came  nearer.  Then  a  horrid  suspicion 
assailed  her.  "  Jacks,"  she  whispered,  "  you've  not 
done  anything  you  shouldn't  have  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  laughed  aloud,  glad  to  be  diverted  from 
some  awkward  thoughts. 

"  Good  Lord,  Nora,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  don't  think 
I've  stolen  the  money,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Then  it's  your  very  own  money,"  said  Miss  Nora, 
relief  in  her  voice. 


128       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  It's  my  very  own,"  declared  Jackson  stoutly. 
After  all,  he  cast  back  at  his  reproaching  conscience, 
the  manager  had  laid  emphasis  on  that. 

Miss  Nora  was  standing  close  beside  him,  clasping  one 
of  his  arms.  Two  quick  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  She 
pressed  the  cashier's  arm  hard. 

"  Jacks,"  she  half  sobbed,  "  don't  laugh  at  me ;  I'm 
a  stupid.  But  if  you  only  knew  how  it  humiliated  me  to 
be  abused  by  that  little  bounder  this  morning." 

Her  young  body  swayed  towards  him  yieldingly.  A 
wandering  strand  of  hair  fell  across  his  cheek.  Mr. 
Jackson's  heart  beat  madly.  It  was  his  moment,  as  the 
manager  had  foreseen.  He  raised  his  unoccupied  arm 
and  half  encircled  her  waist.  Then  —  perhaps  it  was 
youth,  perhaps  it  was  timidity,  perhaps  —  it  is  the  sup- 
position most  creditable  to  Mr.  Jackson  —  it  may  have 
been  conscience;  but  the  arm  fell  back  by  his  side. 

"  That's  all  right,  Nora,"  he  muttered,  and  cursed 
himself  inwardly  for  the  banality ;  "  I'd  do  more  than 
that  for  you  any  day." 

Miss  Nora  released  his  other  arm  slowly,  and  stood 
back  a  step  or  two.  An  embarrassed  silence  fell  on  the 
pair.  Miss  Nora  broke  it  first.  But  the  hint  of  pas- 
sion was  gone  from  her  voice,  and  she  fell  back  once 
more  on  the  current  coin  of  slang. 

"  You've  been  a  real  brick,  Jacks,"  she  said  —  for 
her  life  she  could  not  keep  a  certain  coldness  out  of  her 
voice  — "  and  I'll  not  forget  it  of  you." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  again  awk- 
wardly. The  pair  moved  irresolutely  apart.  "  Good 
night,  Nora,"  he  added  with  an  effort  of  jauntiness,  and 
turned  to  go. 

"  Good  night,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  a  little  form- 
ally, acknowledging  his  salute  with  an  unwonted  prim- 
ness. 

Then  a  rush  of  warm  feeling  overcame  her  constraint. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       129 

She  ran  after  Mr.  Jackson,  and  slipped  a  hand  through 
his  arm. 

"  Jacks,"  she  said  over  his  shoulder  breathlessly,  "  I 
can't  tell  you  just  at  once,  for  I'm  under  a  promise;  but 
as  soon  as  ever  I  can  I'll  let  you  know  all  about  our 
fortune ;  and  every  penny  of  it  will  go  into  your  Bank, 
if  I  have  to  lock  father  up  on  bread  and  water." 

Her  breath  fanned  Mr.  Jackson's  ear.  The  spell 
that  had  fallen  on  him  was  broken.  He  grasped  at  Miss 
Nora's  waist  as  he  turned  to  face  her. 

But  the  moment  was  lost.  She  slipped  dexterously 
from  his  grasp,  picked  up  her  pet  and  vanished  from  the 
circle  of  light.  Out  of  the  darkness  her  voice  floated 
back  gay  and  careless  as  of  yore.  "  Ta-ta,  Jacks,  old 
boy.  Take  care  of  yourself." 

Mr.  Jackson  returned  slowly  to  his  lodgings. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NO  student  of  country-town  life  will  require 
to  be  told  that  the  reconciliation  between  the 
Downshire  Bank  cashier  and  Miss  Nora  Nor- 
manby  was  common  property  within  an  hour  of  their 
public  shake-hands  in  the  street.  The  cobbler,  who  was 
himself  capable  of  putting  two  and  two  together  and 
making  at  least  one  hundred,  had  witnessed  Miss  Nora's 
entrances  and  exits  by  the  Bank  door  during  the  rest 
of  the  day,  and  was  assisted  in  his  deductions  by  his 
wife,  who  had,  providentially,  as  she  herself  declared, 
not  only  seen  the  Rector's  daughter  enter  Mr.  Berry- 
man's  bank,  but  had  waited  till  she  came  out  again. 
The  patently  imploring  attitude  of  Mr.  Berryman's 
cashier  was  interpreted  as  a  last  attempt  to  secure  the 
Normanby  business.  It  became  quite  clear  that  Mr. 
Berryman's  curtness  when  drawn  on  the  subject  of  the 
fortune  had  been  due,  not  to  the  non-existence  of  the 
fortune,  but  to  the  fact  that  he  wasn't  likely  to  get  any 
benefit  out  of  it. 

It  was  held  to  be  rather  cunning  of  Mr.  Berryman  to 
resort  to  the  blandishments  of  his  cashier,  but  the  gen- 
eral opinion  was  that  the  young  man  had  no  chance 
whatever  in  either  love  or  finance  with  Mr.  Jackson. 

Then  the  dimness  of  the  Portnamuck  street-lamps  had 
not  been  sufficient  to  conceal  the  latter  young  gentle- 
man's evening  interview  with  Miss  Nora ;  and  an  enter- 
prising youth  of  about  ten  had  converted  a  promised 
reward  of  a  penny  from  his  mother  into  an  actual  emolu- 
ment of  twopence  by  a  brilliant  feat  of  espionage  which 
included  a  full  report  of  the  handing  over  of  a  packet  of 
bank-notes.  He  was  not  able,  indeed,  to  declare  the 

130 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       131 

number  of  notes  or  their  denomination ;  but  his  mother 
supplied  the  deficiency  with  a  liberal  imagination;  and 
the  incident  was  regarded  as  conclusive. 

It  was  admitted  that  the  new  man  in  the  Downshire 
Bank  was  more  open-handed  than  his  predecessor  or 
Mr.  Berryman;  but  that  he  would  hand  over  five  hun- 
dred pounds  —  the  original  and  minimum  statement  of 
the  amount  —  unless  the  reality  of  Mr.  Normanby's 
good  fortune  was  unquestionable,  no  one  believed  for  a 
moment. 

Then  Molly  Dugan  scored  a  notable  success  by  de- 
tecting several  letters  to  big  Michael  Brannegan  from  a 
chartered  accountant  in  Belfast,  and  the  subsidiary  ru- 
mor of  a  woolen  factory  soon  outstripped  its  parent, 
since  more  people  had  a  chance  of  making  money  if  it 
proved  true. 

Numerous  fallow  brains  in  Portnamuck  and  district 
began  to  stir  with  projects.  John  Dickson,  reputed  a 
far-seeing  man  by  his  neighbors,  paid  ten  pounds  an 
acre  more  than  the  market  price  for  a  small  farm  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town,  and  was  known  to  have  ordered  a 
shilling  hand-book  on  market  gardening;  and  another 
farm  was  withdrawn  from  the  market  by  the  prospective 
seller.  At  least  a  score  of  young  men  countermanded 
their  tickets  for  America  and  bought  cheap  engagement 
rings  instead.  And  hardly  a  small  farmer  who  had 
robbed  Mr.  Normanby  in  the  course  of  some  of  his  for- 
mer schemes  for  the  advancement  of  the  district  but  saw 
himself  doing  a  little  bill  in  one  of  the  banks  on  the  se- 
curity of  his  former  prey,  some  for  the  purpose  of  en- 
larging outbuildings  and  others  to  assuage  thirst. 

In  the  town  itself  the  speculative  spirit  was  little  less 
rife.  Half  a  dozen  proprietors  of  potato  gardens  con- 
sulted the  local  carpenter  about  the  cost  of  notice 
boards  for  "  Building  ground  to  let."  Mrs.  Doan  of 
the  Temperance  Hotel  solicited  an  estimate  from  Keffey, 
the  local  builder  and  contractor,  for  an  annex  to  be 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

used  as  a  dining-room  for  visitors,  ignorant  that  her  op- 
posite neighbor,  Mr.  Amos  Browning,  had  made  a  simi- 
lar request  with  regard  to  the  cost  of  turning  his  parlor 
and  kitchen  into  a  restaurant;  while  Keffey  himself  — 
a  meager,  depressed  little  man,  as  befitted  the  builder  in 
a  stagnant  or  declining  town  —  who  might  have  been 
said  literally  to  live  on  the  east  wind,  since  the  greater 
part  of  his  income  for  years  had  been  drawn  from  re- 
pairing damage  caused  by  gales  from  that  quarter,  was 
so  stimulated  by  the  unwonted  prospect  of  building  ac- 
tivity that  he  lost  a  night's  sleep  worrying  whether  he 
would  have  enough  capital  to  carry  on  with  or  whether  it 
wouldn't  be  better  to  have  his  fire  at  once  and  make  a 
fresh  start. 

Nor  was  the  spirit  of  enterprise  confined  to  the  prole- 
tariat. Mrs.  Woodburn,  a  widow  lady  reputed  to  pos- 
sess something  more  than  a  competence,  caught  the  in- 
fection, and  decided  to  erect  some  house  property  on 
that  very  desirable  plot  of  building  ground  adjoining 
her  bungalow.  Her  determination,  resulting  in  an  ap- 
plication to  the  ground  landlord,  conveyed  the  microbe 
of  progress  into  the  ranks  of  the  aristocracy. 

The  aristocracy  in  Portnamuck  and  neighborhood 
was  represented  by  the  de  Bullevant  family,  consisting 
of  Hugo  de  Bullevant,  his  wife  Mary,  and  his  son  Percy. 

The  de  Bullevants,  who  had  come  over  to  England  at 
the  Conquest,  having  exhausted  the  plunder  gained  by 
participation  in  that  exploit,  obtained  a  footing  in 
Ireland  about  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century  as  the 
result  of  a  transaction  in  which  an  unfortunate  Irish 
chieftain  secured  a  very  small  degree  of  protection  in  ex- 
change for  a  very  large  extent  of  land ;  after  which  the 
family,  not  possessing  the  amount  of  enterprise  neces- 
sary to  carry  them  any  farther  West,  settled  down  to 
steady  mental  deterioration  and  the  breeding  and  de- 
struction of  various  species  of  game  birds.  These  pur- 
suits being  more  entertaining  than  lucrative,  a  financial 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       133 

crisis  of  a  more  or  less  acute  nature  arose  at  fairly  regu- 
lar intervals,  and  was  tided  over  by  one  or  both  of  the 
usual  expedients  in  such  cases ;  namely,  an  extra  turn  of 
the  screw  on  the  tenantry,  or  a  wealthy  marriage. 

The  first  of  these  in  the  course  of  time  and  legislation 
becoming  increasingly  subject  to  the  law  of  diminishing 
return,  the  second  was  more  frequently  resorted  to,  and 
had  at  last  become  the  only  resource.  But  there  is  al- 
ways a  tendency  to  defer  such  nuptials  as  long  as  may 
be,  and  Mr.  Hugo  de  Bullevant,  having  a  soul  above 
shackles  and  a  taste  for  the  Turf,  rejoiced  in  freedom 
so  long  and  so  wholeheartedly  that  if  he  had  not  been 
fortunate  enough  at  last  to  espouse  a  wealthy,  if 
plebeian,  widow  the  date  of  the  family  shipwreck  would 
have  fallen  in  his  reign  instead  of  coinciding,  as  it 
threatened  to  do,  with  the  accession  of  his  son. 

Mrs.  de  Bullevant,  deprived  by  her  alliance  of  the  de- 
lights of  gossip  in  person,  kept  herself  in  touch  with 
public  events  in  Portnamuck  by  means  of  her  maid. 
The  application  of  Mrs.  Woodburn  for  a  building  site 
was  enough  of  a  phenomenon  to  excite  inquiry.  The 
maid  was  despatched  to  Portnamuck  for  a  bolt  of  tape, 
and  brought  back  in  addition  an  unusually  well-authen- 
ticated account  of  the  Normanby  fortune.  A  chamber 
council  was  immediately  summoned,  and  it  was  decided 
that  Mr.  Percy  should  waive  the  considerable  difference 
in  rank  and  wed  Miss  Nora.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
remark  that  her  consent  was  taken  for  granted. 

Once  it  has  been  stated  that  Mr.  Percy  was  red- 
haired,  brainless,  and  absurdly  good-natured  there  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  He  had  superadded  to  the 
family  taste  for  field  sports  a  love  of  golf  almost 
amounting  to  a  passion,  and  when  the  intelligence  of  his 
future  good  fortune  was  communicated  to  him  by  his 
father,  his  first  thought,  after  the  extinction  of  the 
family  mortgages,  was  that  at  last  he  would  be  able  to 
have  an  eighteen-hole  golf-course  at  his  own  door. 


134       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

With  the  simple  directness  that  usually  characterized 
his  actions  he  immediately  put  on  his  hat  and  sallied 
forth  to  the  rectory;  and  the  result  was  that  on  the 
second  day  after  his  unfortunate  mission  with  the  fifty 
pounds  Mr.  Jpckson  received  a  note  from  the  Rector's 
daughter. 

'*  DEAR  JACKS,"  it  ran, — "  If  you're  on  for  a  laugh 
meet  me  at  Big  Michael's  corner  at  four  o'clock  this 
evening.  *  Darling  Percy '  has  decided  to  marry  me  if 
I'll  provide  him  with  an  eighteen  hole  golf-links,  and 
we're  going  to  look  at  the  ground  this  afternoon.  Mind 
and  turn  up.  We'll  have  a  grand  lark  with  him. — 
N.  N." 

Mr.  Jackson's  face,  which  had  been  decidedly  gloomy, 
brightened  up  a  good  deal  as  he  read  the  note.  He 
passed  it  over  to  his  manager. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Jackson,  my  boy,"  said  the  latter, 
"  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  this.  A  little  bit 
cavalier,  perhaps  —  rather  more  of  the  comrade  than 
the  lover  about  it ;  but  comradeship  is  good  enough  to 
go  on  with.  I  was  quite  wrong  about  the  night  before 
last.  It  would  have  been  much  too  precipitate.  That's 
the  letter  of  a  girl  who,  if  you're  not  her  fancy,  is  at 
least  fancy-free;  and  you've  no  rival  to  fear.  You 
settle  down  to  a  slow  siege.  I  fancy  '  darling  Percy  ' 
won't  affect  the  operations  much." 

So -spake  the  manager,  heartening  up  Mr.  Jackson, 
who  had  been  in  such  a  state  of  depression  for  two  days 
that  his  chief  had  overcome  a  natural  desire  to  say, 
"  Well,  I  gave  you  good  advice,"  and  devoted  himself  to 
cheering  his  junior. 

"  By  the  way,  Jackson,"  went  on  the  manager,  "  Mr. 
Percy  is  the  son  of  de  Bullevant,  Mr.  Normanby's 
ground  landlord  of  the  old  mill  and  premises,  isn't  he? 
I  thought  so.  The  gentleman  who  won't  give  him  a 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        135 

proper  title."  The  manager  thoughtfully  tapped  his 
chin.  "  You  might  keep  your  eye  on  how  Mr.  Percy's 
suit  progresses,"  he  added,  after  a  moment  or  two; 
"  and  as  soon  as  it  seems  in  anything  of  a  favorable 
stage  tell  me  at  once." 

"  She'll  not  have  anything  at  all  to  do  with  him," 
declared  Mr.  Jackson.  "  It's  not  on  my  account,"  he 
put  in  hastily,  "  but  Percy's  such  a  little  ass." 

"  I  think  you'll  find  Miss  Nora  won't  turn  him  away 
just  so  quickly  as  that,"  said  the  manager.  "  Even  if, 
as  we  have  no  doubt,  his  ultimate  fate  is  already  sealed, 
he'll  be  allowed  a  few  gleams  of  hope,  if  I'm  not  mis- 
taken. And  I  fancy  Mr.  Normanby's  chance  of  obtain- 
ing a  proper  title  would  not  be  lessened  thereby.  Eh?  " 

"  By  Jove,  sir,"  said  the  cashier  admiringly,  "  you're 
a  cute  one." 

"  Oh,  of  course  nothing  may  come  of  it,"  said  the 
manager ;  "  but  keep  your  eyes  open  in  any  case.  And 
now,  Mr.  Jackson,  on  with  your  work  and  be  in  time  for 
your  appointment.  Every  second  you're  late  is  clear 
gain  to  Mr.  Percy." 

The  spirits  of  industry  and  silence  descended  on  the 
cashier's  department  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  fruit- 
lessly. Just  on  the  stroke  of  three  o'clock  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet Maginness,  who  had  insisted  on  placing  each  of 
her  son's  remittances  from  the  States  on  a  separate  de- 
posit receipt  in  order  to  follow  lovingly  the  rising  tide 
of  his  prosperity  and  generosity,  came  into  the  Bank 
office  with  the  whole  sheaf  of  eighteen  in  her  hand.  Her 
son  was  coming  home  to  buy  a  farm,  and  she  wished  to 
gladden  his  eyes  with  the  grand  total  on  a  single  re- 
ceipt. 

By  the  time  Mr.  Jackson  had  calculated  interest  on 
the  eighteenth  receipt,  and  sinned  his  soul  with  internal 
blasphemy  for  about  the  one  hundred  and  eightieth  time, 
he  was  twenty  minutes  behind  schedule. 

The  consequent  twenty  minutes'  wait  at  Big  Michael's 


136       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

corner  was  spent  by  Mr.  Percy  consciously  in  pushing 
his  rather  artless  suit,  and  unconsciously  in  furthering 
the  flotation  of  the  Portnamuck  Woolen  Factory,  Ltd. 
At  least  three  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  possible  cap- 
ital was  converted  into  certain  by  the  spectacle  of  Miss 
Nora  Normanby's  twenty  minutes'  interview  with  the 
son  of  the  local  landowner. 

Portnamuck  had  at  least  as  accurate  a  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Hugo  de  Bullevant's  financial  situation  as  that 
gentleman  had  himself.  That  his  son  should  be  allowed 
to  make  advances  to  a  girl  with  anything  but  the  most 
solid  expectations  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

"  Watch  him,  now,"  said  Terry  the  waiter  to  his 
friend  the  blacksmith,  who  was  discussing  an  afternoon 
draught  of  porter  with  him  in  the  bar-parlor,  "  watch 
him,  the  little  wasp,  bizzin'  about  a  foine  big  lump  av  a 
girl  like  Miss  Nora.  Sure,  if  she  shook  herself  the  wind 
av  her  skirts  would  whiff  him  over  the  roof.  She  has 
the  brass,  though,  Denis;  she  has  the  brass  or  he 
wouldn't  be  there.  Likely  now  ould  Bullevant  would 
have  word  av  the  money  through  Government.  All 
these  big  bugs  stand  together  to  keep  the  money  av  the 
the  counthry  among  themselves.  But  wouldn't  it  vex 
you  to  see  the  loikes  av  Miss  Nora  throwin'  herself  away 
on  a  miserable  wee  pismire  av  a  man  loike  that." 

"  It's  the  blue  blood,  Terry,  that's  runnin'  short," 
said  the  blacksmith ;  "  an'  the  men  is  bein'  cut  down  to 
spread  it.  If  the  aristocracy  was  all  big  bullocks  of 
men  like  Michael  here,  there  wouldn't  be  enough  of  the 
genuine  article  to  go  round." 

"  Blue  or  red,"  answered  Terry,  still  contemplating 
Mr.  Percy  with  contempt,  "  there's  not  a  dozen  midge- 
bites  av  it  in  the  whole  wee  anatomy  av  him.  Sure  he's 
as  dhry  as  something  a  spider  would  lave  behind  him  in 
a  web.  It's  a  pity  she's  threw  over  a  sappy  young  fel- 
low like  Masther  Jackson  av  the  Bank  for  that  wizened 
little  crab.  If  he  comes  on  the  wee  fellow  makin'  up  to 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        137 

his  girl  like  that,  he'll  be  dug  out  av  him  wid  a  spade. 
An'  bedambut  here  he's  comin'  down  the  road ! " 

But  Terry's  expectations  were  disappointed.  The 
trio  proceeded  quite  amicably  towards  the  beach,  which 
lay  something  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  town 
proper. 

Mr.  Percy,  who  was  secretly  scandalized  by  the  in- 
clusion of  the  Bank  cashier  in  the  party,  though  too 
good-natured  to  be  uncivil  to  Mr.  Jackson  was  too  tact- 
less to  avoid  being  condescending;  and  before  the  party 
was  clear  of  the  town  Mr.  Jackson's  air  of  dignity  was 
so  conspicuous  that  intelligence  of  the  success  of  birth 
over  true  love  was  spreading  through  the  town  like 
wildfire. 

Miss  Normanby  appeared  quite  unconscious  of  any 
restraint. 

"  I  say,  Jacks,"  she  demanded  of  her  left-hand  swain, 
"  hadn't  you  met  Percy  before  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Mr.  de  Bullevant,"  returned  Mr.  Jackson 
stiffly. 

"  Mr.  de  Bullevant,"  cried  Miss  Nora.  "  Listen  to 
that,  Percy."  She  smacked  the  hapless  Mr.  Percy  re- 
soundingly on  the  back,  and  burst  into  peals  of  delighted 
laughter  as  his  hat  leaped  into  the  road.  "  Now  don't 
be  trying  to  look  dignified,  Percy.  Percy  and  I  are 
old  friends,  you  know,  Jacks,  though  he's  forgotten  me 
till  lately.  I  say,  Percy,  do  you  remember  the  evening 
we  broke  into  old  Benison's  orchard  and  you  tore 
your " 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Nora,"  interjected  Mr.  Percy,  turn- 
ing a  brick  color ;  "  really,  you  know " 

"  All  right,  Percy,  I'll  not  give  you  away,"  said  Miss 
Nora.  "  But  you've  been  on  your  high  horse  for  a  long 
time  now,  and  I'm  going  to  take  you  down  a  bit.  Have 
you  heard  about  Percy,  Jacks,"  she  demanded,  coming 
to  a  stop  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  "You  haven't? 


138       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Oh,  well,  Percy's  fallen  in  love  with  a  beautiful  young 
lady  with  money " 

"  Oh,  really  now,  Miss  Nora,"  protested  Mr.  Percy, 
turning  rather  redder  than  before. 

"  Shut  up,  Percy ;  you  know  it's  true.  Haven't  you 
just  been  telling  me,"  went  on  Miss  Normanby  remorse- 
lessly. "  And  she's  going  to  lay  him  out  an  eighteen- 
hole  golf-links  all  for  his  very  own.  Are  you  in  love 
with  the  girl  or  the  golf-links,  Percy  ?  " 

But  Miss  Normanby's  frontal  attack  was  too  much 
for  Mr.  Percy's  powers  of  repartee,  and  after  splutter- 
ing "  'Pon  my  soul,  Nora  —  really,  'pon  my  soul  — "  he 
came  to  an  embarrassed  full  stop. 

"  All  right,  Percy,"  said  Miss  Nora.  "  I  see  you're 
shy  before  Mr.  Jackson.  Never  mind;  he's  a  bit  shy 
himself  sometimes.  Look  at  him  blushing." 

And  indeed  the  cashier,  as  usual,  did  turn  red. 

"  Go  across  to  Tom's,  Percy,  and  bring  the  key  of  the 
loaning  gate,  and  we'll  go  down  and  inspect  the  course." 

"I  say,  Nora,"  remarked  Mr.  Jackson,  contemplat- 
ing Mr.  Percy's  retiring  figure  with  a  much  happier  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  "  aren't  you  a  little  too  hard 
on  the  beggar?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  Jacks,"  answered  Miss  Nora  cheerfully, 
tucking  her  hands  in  her  jacket  pockets  and  leaning 
easily  against  one  of  the  posts  of  the  gate.  "  Percy's 
not  a  bad  little  sort  himself.  He  and  I  used  to  play  to- 
gether when  we  were  kids;  and  I  didn't  like  him  half 
badly.  But  when  he  grew  up  he  turned  up  his  nose  at 
me,  and  got  on  his  high  horse.  Now  he  hears  I'm  com- 
ing into  money,  and  he's  sniffing  around  to  see  if  I'll  set 
the  great  de  Bullevant  family  on  its  legs  again.  Just 
the  way,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora,  turning  a  pair  of 
frank  blue  eyes  on  the  cashier,  "  just  the  way  you've 
been  sniffing  around  to  try  and  get  our  business  for  the 
Bank.  All  right  now,  Jacks,  don't  stutter.  I  know 
you've  got  to  do  it ;  and  besides,  you  stuck  to  me  your- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        139 

self.  Maybe  it's  not  Percy's  fault  either.  I  expect  it 
was  his  people  set  him  on.  But  I  can't  get  at  his  peo- 
ple, so  I've  got  to  take  it  out  of  Percy." 

"  You  can  take  it  out  of  his  people  if  you  like,  Nora," 
said  Jackson,  glad  to  escape  from  dangerous  ground. 

"  How  can  I,  Jacks?  "  cried  Miss  Nora  eagerly,  mov- 
ing a  step  towards  him. 

"You  know  the  old  mill?" 

"  I  know,"  said  Miss  Nora,  nodding  with  comprehen- 
sion. "  Percy's  father's  been  a  pig  about  it.  Dad  told 
me  the  whole  story." 

"  Well,  now's  the  time  to  get  a  proper  grant  of  it 
from  old  de  Bullevant.  You  tell  Mr.  Percy  his  people 
are  rotters  over  the  business,  and  make  him  prove  they 
aren't  by  giving  a  proper  deed."  And  Mr.  Jackson 
proceeded  to  show  the  justice  and  propriety  of  the  act. 

Miss  Nora  wrinkled  her  pretty  brows  a  moment  over 
the  ethical  problem. 

"  I  don't  see  why  on  earth  I  shouldn't,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  Jacks,"  she  cried,  regarding  the  cashier  wide- 
eyed,  "  you're  a  wonder ;  and  I  thought  you  were  good 
for  nothing  but  fox-terriers.  Fancy  your  thinking  all 
that  out  for  me." 

Alas!  Facilis  descensus  Averni.  This  time  Mr. 
Jackson  wore  his  borrowed  plumes  with  hardly  a  qualm. 
And  if  there  was  any  lingering  trace  of  tenderness  in 
his  conscience  it  was  speedily  dispelled  by  Mr.  Percy. 

Like  most  other  specialists,  Mr.  Percy  cut  an  awk- 
ward enough  figure  out  of  his  selected  field,  but  was  all 
the  more  effective  in  it  from  the  very  unexpectedness  of 
his  brilliance.  A  bad  third  in  the  trio  so  far,  the  in- 
stant he  stepped  on  the  sand-hills  his  leadership 
was  unquestioned.  Even  Miss  Nora  acknowledged  the 
subtle  influence.  To  the  man  she  was  almost  openly 
contemptuous ;  but  the  golfer  predominated  over  her. 

"  The  first  tee  would  be  here,"  said  Mr.  Percy, 
briskly  ascending  an  eminence,  "  and  the  green  in  that 


140       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

hollow.  A  drive  and  a  masliie.  Just  wait  a  second." 
He  pulled  a  steel  club-head  from  his  pocket,  deftly  sub- 
stituted it  for  the  handle  of  his  walking-stick,  teed  up  a 
golf-ball  and  smote  it  fair  and  full,  a  perfect  iron-shot. 

"  A  full  mashie  would  get  you  up  from  there,"  said 
Mr.  Percy.  "  Like  to  have  a  smack,  Mr. —  er  — 
Johnson  ?  " 

So  Mr.  Jackson  delivered  a  couple  of  savage  assaults 
on  an  unoffending  westerly  breeze,  and  handed  the 
improvised  club  rather  sulkily  over  to  Miss  Nora,  who 
also  failed  to  hit  the  ball,  which  Mr.  Percy  then  unas- 
sumingly drove  two  hundred  yards  or  so. 

After  that  his  ascendancy  was  complete.  He  drove 
along  level  stretches,  he  pitched  over  sandhills,  he  putted 
amazing  lengths  into  rabbit-scrapes  with  his  protean 
club,  till  between  his  skill  and  Miss  Nora's  frank  admira- 
tion of  it  he  had  driven  all  sentiments  out  of  Mr.  Jack- 
son's bosom  but  the  desire  to  murder,  which  is  latent  in 
every  young  man  who  has  a  rival. 

But  the  exaltation  of  Mr.  Percy  was  to  be  abased. 

He  had  interrupted  his  dissertation  on  a  projected 
short  hole  to  lay  back  his  adjustable  club-head  a  trifle 
farther,  while  Miss  Nora  ran  across  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Jackson's  bill-discounting  friend  Mrs.  Margaret  Ann 
Doolahan,  who  was  crossing  the  sandhills. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  when  she  returned,  putting  down  a 
ball,  "  I'll  just  pitch  over  that  ridge  on  to  the  green. 
It'll  be  a  blind  hole,  but  a  beauty  all  the  same." 

"  You  could  never  hit  a  ball  over  that  mountain," 
declared  Miss  Nora,  shaking  her  curls.  "  It's  impos- 
sible —  even  for  you,"  she  added,  with  an  ingenuous 
admiration  that  made  the  cashier  grind  his  teeth. 

Mr.  Percy  smiled  superior,  measured  the  distance 
with  his  eye,  and  played  his  stroke.  The  ball  sailed 
sweetly  over  the  summit  of  the  ridge. 

"  Just  on  the  green,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  turning  to  Miss 
Nora  for  congratulation. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

As  he  spoke  a  piercing  shriek  sounded  from  the  other 
side  of  the  ridge,  and  was  followed  by  a  dismal  howling, 
apparently  in  a  woman's  voice. 

Mr.  Percy's  club  dropped  from  his  hand. 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  cried,  staring  at  Miss  Nora  aghast, 
"  I've  struck  some  one !  " 

"  Run,  Percy ;  run,  Jacks,"  cried  Miss  Nora,  and  set 
them  the  example.  "  It's  poor  old  Margaret  Ann  Doo- 
lahan.  There  was  nobody  else  about.  Oh,  poor  old 
creature !  I  hope  she's  not  seriously  hurt." 

And,  sure  enough,  when  the  three  breasted  the  ridge, 
there  below  them  was  Margaret  Ann  seated  on  a  hum- 
mock, rocking  to  and  fro  in  agony,  and  giving  vent  to 
a  series  of  most  piercing  ululations.  The  horror- 
stricken  party  paused  an  instant  on  the  overhanging 
bank  of  turf,  which  ended  their  hesitation  by  collapsing 
and  precipitating  them  headlong  down  the  slope  of  fine 
sand.  Miss  Nora  was  first  on  her  feet  and  ran  over  to 
the  sufferer. 

*'  Where  are  you  hurt,  Margaret  Ann,"  she  cried, 
bending  over  her  solicitously.  "  Is  it  your  eye?  " 

"  It's  my  eye,  Miss  Nora  dear,"  wailed  Margaret 
Ann,  her  apron  tightly  pressed  to  the  injured  member ; 
"  my  eye's  out,  my  eye's  out.  Oh,  the  wee  white  ball 
has  put  out  my  eye !  "  And  Margaret  Ann  burst  into  a 
long  quavering  screech. 

"What  on  earth  shall  we  do,  Percy?"  asked  Miss 
Nora,  turning  a  face  of  consternation  to  the  shaking 
culprit.  "  I  think  you'd  better  run  for  the  doctor." 

"  An'  was  it  you  done  it  on  me,  Mr.  Percy  ?  "  de- 
manded the  victim,  sitting  up  suddenly  and  fixing  the 
criminal  with  one  fierce  eye.  "  Was  it  you  that  has 
lamed  an'  disfigured  a  poor  helpless  inoffensive  bein' 
with  your  fool  nonsense?  Oh,  ye  shouldn't  ha'  done  it, 
Mr.  Percy ;  ye  shouldn't  ha'  done  it  on  me,  on  me  that 
has  known  you  and  yours  all  my  life  an'  respected  them, 
an'  has  held  ye  in  my  arms  many  a  time  when  ye  were 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

an  infant  child ;  an'  a  dwamlin',  helpless  wee  crather  ye 
were.  Oh,  my  eye,  my  eye ! "  And  Margaret  Ann 
went  off  into  a  fresh  paroxysm  of  lamentation. 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  Nora,"  stammered  the  hapless 
Percy.  "  I  say,  what  the  dickens  are  we  to  do  ?  "  But 
Miss  Nora  had  been  a  little  overcome  by  the  feeling 
reference  to  Mr.  Percy's  infant  days,  and  was  contem- 
plating the  horizon  with  an  expression  of  hopeless 
concern.  "  Can  you  suggest  anything,  Mr. —  er  John- 
son? "  turning  to  the  cashier,  who  was  regarding  the 
injured  woman  with  the  awkward  sympathy  usual  to 
the  unskilled  spectator  in  such  cases.  "  I'm  so  damn- 
ably upset,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  rumpling  his  thin  hair  in 
dismay  at  a  further  outburst  of  woe.  "  This  is  a  dread- 
ful business,  you  know.  What  on  earth  can  we  do,  eh?  " 

"  Better  look  at  her  eye,"  said  Jackson,  with  a  happy 
inspiration. 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  relieved. 
"  By  Jove,  that's  a  capital  idea !  It  mayn't  be  so  bad. 
Let  us  see  your  eye,"  he  bawled,  bending  over  the  rock- 
ing Margaret  Ann. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Percy,"  cried  Miss  Nora  in  distress.  "  I 
couldn't  bear  to  look  at  it." 

*'  Run  you  across  to  the  cottage  and  get  some  warm 
water  and  a  cloth,  Nora,"  said  Jackson  with  authority. 
"  We'll  look  at  it." 

But  Margaret  Ann  refused  to  listen  to  the  sugges- 
tion, and  redoubled  her  wailing  at  each  attempt  to  with- 
draw her  hand. 

"'  I  say,  confound  the  woman !  "  cried  the  exasperated 
Mr.  Percy  at  last.  "  What  are  we  to  do  with  her?  " 

Instantly  Margaret  Ann  sat  up.  Fury  inflamed  still 
further  her  swollen  features. 

"  An'  is  it  cursin'  me  ye  are,  you  that  has  wronged 
and  abused  me,  an'  made  a  dark  woman  av  a  poor  penni- 
less widow  that  was  hard  put  to  it  to  earn  a  crust  of 
bread  with  her  seem'  sight?  Aye,  that's  you,  an'  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        143 

breed,  seed,  an'  generation  of  ye,  that  would  thrample 
down  the  poor  an'  needy  an'  lave  them  to  the  workhouse 
if  ye  had  your  way.  But  mind  yourself,  Mr.  Percy ; 
mind  yourself  this  time.  I  may  be  a  poor  woman,  but 
the  poor  has  friends.  There's  them  in  the  country'll 
not  let  me  be  wronged.  Ye'll  hear  more  of  this,  Mr. 
Percy;  mind  ye,  you  will.  If  there's  law  in  the  land 
ye'll  hear  more  of  this ! "  And  Margaret  Ann  rose  to 
her  feet  suddenly  and  set  off  at  a  shambling  trot  to- 
wards the  gate,  moaning  piteously  as  she  went. 

Mr.  Percy  looked  after  her  in  consternation,  then 
turned  to  the  cashier.  His  mouth  opened  and  shut 
without  emitting  any  sound. 

But  Mr.  Jackson,  helped  by  his  previous  knowledge 
of  Margaret  Ann's  character,  had  gathered  a  ray  of 
daylight  from  her  last  speech.  All  feeling  of  rivalry 
vanished  in  a  generous  impulse  of  comradeship. 

"  Run  after  her  quick  and  offer  her  some  money,"  he 
said  hurriedly.  "  I  know  the  old  devil.  She's  not 
much  hurt,  and  it's  money  she's  after.  Run !  " 

But  Mr.  Percy  stood.  "  Would  she  want  much?  "  he 
asked,  hesitating. 

"  Offer  her  a  sovereign,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  a  little 
disgusted ;  "  or  two,  if  it  comes  to  that.  She'll  sell  her 
whole  carcase  for  two.  It'll  cost  you  about  fifty  if 
Timkinson  of  Ballygreen  gets  hold  of  her  and  makes 
a  Quarter  Sessions  case  of  it,"  he  added  warningly,  as 
Mr.  Percy  still  hesitated. 

He  watched  the  colloquy  from  afar  with  interest.  At 
first  Margaret  Ann  evidently  wouldn't  hear  of  compro- 
mise, and  pursued  her  way  resolutely  towards  the  gate, 
Mr.  Percy  trotting  in  her  wake  bidding  furiously. 
Then  her  pace  slackened.  Mr.  Jackson  could  hear  her 
answering.  The  two  came  to  a  full  stop ;  and  presently 
Mr.  Percy  walked  back  slowly  with  a  countenance  di- 
vided between  relief  and  embarrassment. 

"  I  say,"  he  stammered  as  he  drew  near.     "  She'll 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

take  two  pounds.  You  couldn't  lend  me  a  couple  of 
sovereigns,  could  you?  I  came  out  with  only  a  few 
coppers  in  my  golf-coat." 

Mr.  Jackson's  jaw  dropped.  The  de  Bullevant  ex- 
chequer was  an  open  book  to  him;  and  he  bitterly  re- 
gretted his  moment  of  generosity.  But  he  was  too 
junior  an  official  to  be  yet  hardened  in  refusal;  and, 
unluckily,  the  major  portion  of  his  month's  salary  was 
reposing  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  He  drew  out  a  sov- 
ereign-case reluctantly. 

The  journey  back  was  accomplished  by  the  trio  in 
comparative  silence.  Both  Mr.  Percy  and  the  cashier 
had  their  reasons  for  taciturnity,  and  Miss  Nora  seemed 
anxious  only  to  get  back  to  the  town.  At  Big  Michael's 
corner  she  bade  Mr.  Percy  a  hurried  good-by.  "  Come 
along,  Jacks,"  she  said  to  the  cashier,  and  bolted  hastily 
down  the  lane  leading  to  the  blacksmith's. 

Mr.  Jackson  found  her  propped  up  against  a  back 
door,  in  a  helpless  paroxysm  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,  Jacks,  dear,"  she  cried,  wiping  her  streaming 
eyes  with  a  not  altogether  spotless  handkerchief  —  the 
functions  of  Miss  Nora's  handkerchief  were  multifarious 
— "  what  a  lark,  what  an  almighty  lark !  Oh,  dear  — " 
and  she  went  off  into  a  succession  of  trills  that  on  the 
way  down  to  the  proposed  golf-links  would  have  rav- 
ished Mr.  Jackson's  heart. 

But  at  the  moment  he  was  not  disposed  towards 
laughter. 

"  I  don't  see  very  much  lark  about  it,"  he  said  a  little 
testily.  "  The  old  woman  mayn't  be  much  the  worse  — 
I  don't  believe  she  is,  but  that  fool  might  have  put  her 
eye  out." 

"  Why,  you  fathead,  he  didn't  hit  her  at  all,"  said 
Miss  Nora,  sobering  for  a  moment. 

"  He  didn't  hit  her?  "  said  Mr.  Jackson,  staring  at 
her  blankly.  "Why 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  said  Miss  Nora.     "  Well,  you  are  a 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        145 

juggins.  I  thought  you  saw  through  it.  I  put  her  up 
to  it  all,  just  to  take  a  bit  of  the  starch  out  of  little 
Percy.  He  was  swanking  too  much  about  his  blessed 
golf.  But  didn't  she  do  it  well?  I  could  hardly  keep 
in  at  Percy's  face,  with  his  mouth  opening  and  shutting 
like  a  goldfish!  And  you  haven't  heard  the  best  of  it 
yet.  She  got  two  pounds  out  of  him.  Two  golden 
sovereigns.  She  showed  them  to  me  as  she  went  past." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  glumly.  "  They  were 
my  two  sovereigns." 

"  What  ? "  demanded  Miss  Nora,  open-eyed. 
"Yours,  Jacks?  How?" 

Mr.  Jackson  explained,  with  a  strong  suggestion  of 
grievance  in  his  bearing. 

Miss  Nora  strove  to  preserve  her  gravity;  but  the 
situation  was  too  much  for  her.  For  the  second  time 
that  day  Mr.  Jackson  failed  to  be  charmed  by  Miss 
Nora's  laughter. 

"  Oh,  Jacks  dear,"  she  gasped,  feeling  for  her  hand- 
kerchief again.  "  I'm  sorry,  really  I'm  sorry ;  but  it's 
too  funny  for  anything.  Fancy  old  Percy  being  such  a 
downy  bird.  And  you  a  bank  man  too !  " 

The  insinuation  that  he  had  been  overreached  was  the 
last  straw  laid  on  Mr.  Jackson's  temper. 

"  He  wasn't  downy  at  all,"  he  cried  hotly.  "  The 
little  ass  hasn't  that  much  brains.  It's  just  that  he's  a 
confounded  pauper,  like  his  old  father  before  him.  I'll 
never  see  my  two  pounds  again.  And  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  laugh  at  me,  anyway,"  he  went  on,  after  re- 
garding her  impatiently  for  a  little ;  "  I've  not  done 
anything  on  you.  I  must  go  back  to  the  Bank  now, 
Nora.  I  left  some  work  undone  to  come  out  on  this 
expedition  of  yours."  And  the  cashier  turned  away  in 
some  dudgeon. 

"  Here,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora,  running  after  him 
and  catching  him  by  the  arm,  "  don't  you  be  marching 
off  in  a  temper.  I  know  I  shouldn't  laugh,  but  all  the 


146       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

same  it  was  funny.  Now  don't  be  a  silly  ass,"  she  said 
coaxingly,  clinging  to  him  as  he  strove  to  throw  off  her 
arm.  "  I  know  you've  been  a  trump  to  me.  And  look 
here,  Jacks,"  she  pulled  him  round  to  face  her,  "  in  a 
day  or  two  at  most  I'll  tell  you  all  about  —  you  know, 
the  money.  And  when  I'm  giving  you  back  your  fifty 
pounds  I'll  throw  in  a  couple  of  sovereigns  —  for  luck. 
Now  is  urns  better?  Smile  on  the  lady  then,  Jacks." 
Miss  Nora  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  looked  at  the 
cashier  ingratiatingly. 

It  was  not  in  male  flesh  to  resist  her.  Mr.  Jackson's 
features  relaxed. 

"  All  right,  Nora,"  he  said,  "  no  harm  done." 

But  his  ruffled  feelings  were  not  altogether  soothed. 
More  than  a  modest  degree  of  humor  is  not  desirable  in 
a  young  man's  sweetheart.  Despite  Miss  Nora's  wheed- 
ling eyes  he  saw  the  laughter  trembling  on  her  lips,  and 
as  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  Bank  he  decided,  with  a 
fine  oblivion  of  the  facts,  that  if  he  had  it  to  do  over 
again  he  wasn't  sure  whether  he  would  have  given  her 
the  fifty  pounds  at  all. 

The  manager,  too,  was  not  so  sympathetic  as  he  ex- 
pected, and  ignored  the  money  side  of  the  episode  in  a 
manner  that  Mr.  Jackson  felt  was  more  in  keeping  with 
a  manager's  salary  than  with  a  cashier's. 

"  She's  a  great  girl,"  declared  his  chief  with  delight ; 
"  gad,  she's  a  great  girl.  Good  Lord,  why  am  I  not 
twenty-five  again!  Two  eyes,  and  a  shape  like  that, 
and  a  sense  of  humor  thrown  in.  It's  more  than  any 
one  man  deserves.  Jackson,  my  boy,  I  envy  you  —  or 
at  least  I  should  if  I  were  ten  years  younger.  Maybe 
a  sense  of  humor  in  your  wife  doesn't  appeal  to  you 
very  much  at  present,"  said  the  manager,  observing 
his  cashier's  lack  of  enthusiasm ;  "  but  it'll  be  a  great 
comfort  to  you  when  her  figure  begins  to  go.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Jackson,"  and  the  manager  assumed  a  more 
professional  tone,  "  now  that  this  story  of  the  fortune 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        147 

seems  to  be  correct,  I  wish  you'd  take  an  early  oppor- 
tunity of  introducing  me  to  the  young  lady.  I  have 
possibly  a  little  more  experience  on  the  business  side  of 
things." 

But  though  the  manager  laid  stress  on  the  business 
aspect  of  the  case,  it  is  an  undeniable  fact  that  as  he 
brushed  his  coat  in  the  lavatory  preparatory  to  going 
out  he  glanced  for  an  appreciable  instant  in  the  look- 
ing-glass. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AS  it  turned  out,  the  introduction  was  effected 
without  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Jackson. 
The  evening  after  her  golfing  adventure 
Miss  Normanby  was  interrupted  in  the  congenial  task 
of  washing  one  of  her  numerous  dogs  by  a  visit  from 
her  friend  Miss  Gertrude,  the  only  daughter  of  the 
widowed  Mrs.  Woodburn  whose  aspirations  in  the  build- 
ing line  have  already  been  mentioned.  Miss  Woodburn 
had  only  the  day  before  arrived  home  from  the  Con- 
tinent after  being  "  finished,"  and  lost  no  time  in  call- 
ing on  Miss  Nora,  partly  from  her  own  affection  for  an 
ancient  friend,  and  partly  at  the  instigation  of  her 
mother,  who  was  not  on  particularly  intimate  terms  with 
the  Rectory  herself  and  hoped  to  obtain  some  informa- 
tion through  her  daughter.  Gertrude  was  a  quiet, 
rather  shy  girl  of  about  nineteen,  neutral  in  coloring 
and  character.  But  her  appearance  was  redeemed  from 
insignificance  by  a  pair  of  rather  fine  brown  eyes,  and 
she  had  an  unconscious  trick  of  looking  up  at  her  male 
fellow-creatures  in  timid  admiration  that  appealed  to 
the  vanity  latent  in  every  man's  breast,  and  had  been 
known  to  do  a  good  deal  of  damage  among  the  young 
fellows  who  visited  Portnamuck  in  summer-time. 

Miss  Nora  found  her  slow  as  a  rule,  and  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion  would  much  rather  have  continued  the 
washing  of  her  Irish  terrier;  but  recognizing  that  it 
was  an  operation  more  interesting  to  the  performer 
than  to  the  spectator  she  hastily  sluiced  the  animal 
down,  and  sallied  forth  with  the  visitor  towards  Port- 
namuck. 

148 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        149 

"  We'll  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  Gertie,"  ex- 
plained Miss  Nora.  "  A  run  will  dry  Tinker's  coat, 
and  you'll  have  an  opportunity  of  meeting  Mr.  Jackson 
of  the  Bank.  He'll  be  coming  out  about  now.  And 
you  needn't  blush,  Gertie;  you  know  you're  just  dying 
to  see  him.  I  don't  mind  a  bit,"  declared  Miss  Nora 
with  characteristic  frankness,  "  for  I  rather  think  I've 
got  him  on  a  string." 

But  Gertie  blushed  a  great  deal;  for  although  Miss 
Nora  was  quite  unaware  of  it,  she  had  long  worshiped 
from  afar  at  Mr.  Jackson's  shrine,  and  even  her  timid 
nature  was  a  little  stirred  by  the  unconscious  challenge. 
And  so  when  they  did  meet  the  cashier  she  blushed 
furiously  again,  but  found  enough  courage  for  a  shy 
glance,  full  in  his  eyes  as  he  shook  hands  with  her.  It 
was  not  without  its  effect  either.  Mr.  Jackson,  who 
had  quite  resented  her  presence  when  he  had  seen  the 
two  girls  coming,  instead  of  walking  on  Miss  Nora's 
side,  as  he  had  instantly  determined  on  doing,  was  im- 
polite enough  to  take  up  his  position  between  the  two, 
and  set  off  down  the  road  in  the  state  of  exaltation  com- 
mon to  young  men  who  feel  themselves  competed  for. 

But  his  state  of  bliss  was  not  to  endure  for  long. 

It  happened  that  Johnny  Raheny,  the  blacksmith's 
man,  had  spent  the  previous  night  assisting  at  a  wake. 
And  as  the  assistance  required  of  the  participants  in 
such  a  solemnity,  with  the  exception  of  the  corpse,  is 
usually  confined  to  the  consumption  of  strong  waters,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  Mr.  Raheny  had  found  it  neces- 
sary to  indulge  in  a  short  sleep  in  a  haystack  before  pre- 
senting himself  for  his  daily  labors.  Unfortunately  for 
Johnny's  pay-sheet  for  that  week,  a  half-pint  bottle  of 
whisky  had  accompanied  him  to  his  slumbers,  and  al- 
though he  had  awakened  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  the  contents  of  the  bottle  had  prevailed  against 
the  spirit  of  wakefulness  until  about  the  time  of  Mr. 
Jackson's  meeting  with  the  two  girls,  with  the  result 


150       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

that  as  Johnny  emerged  from  the  field  in  which  his  hay- 
stack had  been  built  he  almost  bumped  into  the  party 
of  three. 

Now  it  was  Johnny's  misfortune  that  although  the 
stupidest  and  most  tongue-tied  of  mortals  in  the  pres- 
ence of  female  flesh  when  he  was  sober,  in  his  cups  he  was 
a  little  given  to  being  amorous.  And  when  his  eyes 
fell  on  Miss  Nora  Normanby,  who  was  nearest  him,  he 
straightway  lurched  across  the  road  and  laid  hold  of 
her  arm. 

"  Ye  come  for  a  walk  'th  me,  Miss  Nora?  "  he  hic- 
cuped,  with  a  heavy  stagger  that  almost  drove  the  whole 
line  into  the  opposite  ditch. 

All  the  chivalry  in  Mr.  Jackson  came  to  the  top  with 
a  rush.  Alone,  the  consideration  of  Johnny's  supe- 
rior weight  and  strength  would  have  impelled  him  to 
diplomacy  in  any  dispute ;  accompanied  by  one  girl  a 
good  deal  would  have  depended  on  the  girl ;  for,  after  all, 
a  blacksmith  is  an  ugly  customer  in  a  row ;  but  in  the 
presence  of  two,  and  one  of  them  Miss  Nora  Normanby, 
what  were  a  couple  of  stones'  weight  to  a  young  man 
of  spirit?  Besides,  as  Mr.  Jackson's  subconscious  self 
told  him,  Johnny  was  undeniably  drunk. 

"  Drop  that  young  lady's  arm  at  once,"  cried  Mr. 
Jackson  fiercely,  buttoning  his  coat. 

But  Miss  Nora  was  not  at  all  perturbed.  She  dis- 
engaged her  arm  adroitly,  and  stepped  between  the  two. 

"  Don't  be  a  madhead,  Jacks,"  she  said  in  an  under- 
tone. "  I  can  manage  Johnny  all  right.  Don't  you 
see  he's  drunk.  Look  here,  Johnny  " —  she  avoided  a 
second  attempt  to  take  her  arm  — "  you're  drunk,  don't 
you  know  that  ?  " 

Johnny  paused  for  a  moment  and  scratched  his  head. 

"  That's  right,  Miss  Nora,"  he  said  suddenly,  as  one 
to  whom  a  sudden  revelation  has  been  accorded. 
"  That's  right,"  he  said  again,  wagging  his  head  in 
solemn  conviction,  "  'm  as  dhrunk  as  a  fiddler." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        151 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Miss  Nora  in  a  severely  prac- 
tical tone,  "  what  you  want  is  a  good  sleep." 

"  Miss  Nora,"  inquired  Johnny  with  an  expression  of 
bemused  astonishment,  "  5ve  you  ever  been  drunk  be- 
fore?" 

"  I  have  not,  Johnny,"  answered  Miss  Nora,  "  but  I 
know  what's  good  for  those  that  are.  Come  along  now 
to  Denis's  by  the  back  way  here  and  have  a  good  snooze. 
There's  a  nice  comfortable  place  behind  the  forge  fire  " 
—  Mr.  Jackson  started  — "  and  I'll  not  let  you  be  dis- 
turbed." 

Miss  Nora's  air  of  calm  authority  completely  dom- 
inated Johnny. 

"  Right  y'are,  M's  Nora,"  he  said  submissively. 
"  I'll  have  sleep  in  the  forge  fire.  'M  as  dhrunk  as  a 
fiddler  ?  "  he  queried,  blinking  at  her. 

"  You're  as  drunk  as  a  whole  orchestra  of  fiddlers, 
Johnny,"  responded  Miss  Nora  cheerfully.  "  Come 
along  now,"  as  Johnny  poised  himself  before  taking 
wing. 

"  You  give  me  n'arm  down  the  forge,"  demanded 
Johnny,  after  two  false  starts. 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Johnny,"  said  Miss  Nora.  "  Off 
we  go,  now." 

She  linked  her  arm  under  Johnny's  after  a  delighted 
glance  at  Mr.  Jackson's  face  of  horror ;  and  the  pair  set 
off  zigag  down  the  side  lane  that  led  to  the  forge. 

Mr.  Jackson,  who  had  been  hovering  round  in  angry 
indecision  during  the  colloquy,  looked  after  them 
blankly,  and  then  turned  to  his  companion  for  coun- 
sel. 

At  that  moment  a  heavy  stumble  on  Johnny's  part 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  the  equilibrium  of  himself  and  his 
escort. 

Miss  Woodburn  clasped  her  hands  convulsively. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Jackson !  "  she  cried,  "  can't  you  save  Nora 
from  that  dreadful  man?  " 


152        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

All  the  Sir  Lancelot  arose  again  instantly  in  Mr. 
Jackson. 

"  I'll  teach  the  scoundrel  manners,"  he  ground  out 
between  his  teeth,  and  strode  after  the  pair.  "  Drop 
that  young  lady's  arm  this  instant,  you  drunken  scoun- 
drel," he  cried,  seizing  Johnny  by  the  collar,  and  shak- 
ing him  as  far  as  the  disparity  in  their  respective 
weights  permitted. 

"  Stop  it,  Jacks !  Don't  be  a  fool !  "  cried  Miss  Nora 
in  alarm.  But  the  harm  was  done.  With  a  growl  of 
rage  Johnny  shook  himself  free.  A  swing  of  his  power- 
ful right  arm  took  the  cashier  somewhere  about  the  neck, 
and  overwhelmed  him  into  the  ditch,  whither  he  was 
immediately  followed  by  Johnny,  from  the  momentum  of 
his  own  blow. 

In  an  instant  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  whirling 
arms  and  legs  of  a  violent  and  highly  unscientific  com- 
bat. Johnny  from  his  potations  could  realize  nothing 
but  that  he  was  in  close  proximity  to  a  hostile  force,  at 
which  he  struck  vigorously  with  hands  and  feet,  while 
Mr.  Jackson,  his  blood  fairly  up,  retaliated  vigorously 
in  kind.  The  situation  was  further  complicated  by  the 
intervention  of  Miss  Normanby's  terrier,  which,  after  a 
barking  skirmish,  during  which  he  vainly  tried  to  distin- 
guish friend  from  foe,  cast  hesitation  to  the  winds, 
plunged  joyfully  into  the  fray  and  began  to  harry  both 
parties  indiscriminately. 

Meantime  Miss  Nora,  after  a  momentary  pause  of 
dismay,  had  recovered  her  customary  self-posses- 
sion. 

"  Run  for  Denis,  quick,"  she  cried  to  her  shrieking 
companion.  "  Denis,  the  blacksmith,  you  little  fool," 
shaking  the  terrified  Miss  Woodburn.  "  Run  like  light- 
ning !  "  Miss  Nora  called  after  her,  and  turned  swiftly 
to  the  scene  of  battle.  A  sudden  tweak  by  the  tail 
landed  the  astonished  Irish  terrier  over  the  hedge  into 
the  adjoining  field;  and  then  seizing  one  of  Mr.  Jack- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        153 

son's  violently  agitated  legs  Miss  Nora  drew  him  dexter- 
ously out  of  Johnny's  reach. 

"  Come  on,  Jacks,"  she  cried,  as  he  scrambled  to  his 
feet,  "  make  for  the  forge  with  me.  Denis  is  coming." 

But  Mr.  Jackson  was  primitive  man  again. 

"  Let  me  go,  Nora,"  he  stuttered,  brushing  her  aside ; 
"  let  me  at  him !  " 

"  Stop  now,  Jacks,  have  some  sense,"  cried  Miss 
Nora,  and  caught  at  his  coat-tails.  Unluckily  for  the 
cashier  she  detained  him  long  enough  to  allow  Johnny, 
already  on  his  knees,  to  regain  his  feet.  This  time 
Johnny's  right-arm  swing  had  more  success.  The  ill- 
starred  Mr.  Jackson  smitten  by  a  thunderbolt  on  the 
point  of  the  jaw  whirled  half  round,  fell  heavily  on  the 
laneway,  and  lay  there,  while  Johnny,  inflamed  with  rage 
and  revenge,  made  a  headlong  rush  for  Miss  Nora. 

The  girl  at  once  recognized  her  danger.  For  the  first 
time  during  the  scene  her  nerve  gave  way  and  she  ran 
white-faced  and  slightly  sobbing  in  the  direction  of  the 
blacksmith's,  Johnny  thundering  in  her  rear.  But  a 
few  strides  showed  her  that  she  had  easily  the  pace  of 
her  pursuer;  and  she  had  almost  regained  her  self-pos- 
session when,  flying  round  a  bend  of  the  lane,  she  ran 
into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Wildridge. 

"  Turn,"  she  panted,  disengaging  herself  from  the 
clasp  in  which  the  manager  was,  perhaps  absent-mind- 
edly, retaining  her.  "  Johnny  Raheny's  after  me, 
and  he's  drunk.  Make  for  the  forge,  and  he'll  follow 
us." 

"  That's  all  right,  Miss  Normanby,"  said  the  mana- 
ger easily.  "  You  run  down  to  the  forge  and  I'll  inter- 
view Master  Johnny." 

Miss  Nora's  sorely  tried  patience  gave  way.  She 
stamped  her  foot  furiously. 

"  You  old  fool,"  she  stormed,  "  he's  half  killed  poor 
Mr.  Jackson  already,  and  he'll  eat  you.  Run ;  here  he's 
coming !  Well,  if  you  won't  I  will."  And  off  she  set. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

But  a  certain  respect  for  the  manager's  misguided 
courage  caused  her  to  look  back  from  a  safe  distance. 
She  was  just  in  time  to  see  Johnny,  rejoicing  in  a  new 
victim,  discharge  one  of  his  famous  swings,  this  time  a 
left-hander,  at  his  fresh  adversary.  Miss  Nora  closed 
her  eyes,  and  thereby  missed  the  manager's  neat  duck 
that  caused  Johnny's  fist  to  hiss  harmlessly  over  his 
head.  When  she  opened  them  the  manager  and  Johnny 
were  coming  towards  her  in  apparent  amity.  She 
waited  tiptoe  for  flight,  till  they  were  within  speaking 
distance,  and  heard  the  manager's  calm  conversational 
tones. 

"  You  will  observe,  Mr.  Raheny,"  he  was  saying, 
"  that  by  grasping  your  waistcoat  with  my  right  hand  I 
make  a  fulcrum  of  my  right  arm,  and  clasping  your  left 
hand  in  mine  in  my  present  affectionate  manner  I  am 
enabled  to  give  it  a  tweak  that  is  calculated  to  give  a 
good  deal  more  satisfaction  to  me  than  to  you.  For  in- 
stance," said  the  manager.  Johnny  gave  a  squawk  of 
anguish.  "  Painful,  isn't  it  ?  "  inquired  the  manager. 
"  It's  meant  to  be.  The  trick  is  an  instance  of  jiu-jitsu, 
a  form  of  self-defense  invented,  I  understand,  by  the 
Japanese.  I  can  break  your  arm  if  you  like,  you 
drunken  dog,"  said  the  manager  with  sudden  venom, 
"  and  if  you  utter  another  foul  word  in  the  presence  of 
this  young  lady,  I  will.  Behold  the  captive  of  my  bow 
and  spear,  Miss  Normanby,"  he  called  out,  "  or  rather 
of  my  strategy.  The  triumph  of  skill  over  brute  force, 
—  Ulysses  and  the  Cyclops." 

"  Only  I  hope  you  haven't  put  his  eye  out,"  said  Miss 
Normanby,  who  had  browsed  in  her  father's  library  to 
an  extent  that  would  have  astonished  the  manager. 

"  Good  Lord,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wildridge  in  delighted 
astonishment,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  you've  read  the 
Odyssey ! " 

"  Parts  of  it,"  answered  Miss  Nora,  slightly  suffused 
in  the  face.  "  Oh,  look  out,  Mr.  Wildridge !  " 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        155 

The  manager  in  his  admiration  of  Miss  Normanby's 
unexpected  classical  attainments  had  incautiously  re- 
laxed his  grasp.  Instantly  Johnny  tore  himself  free 
and  launched  a  ponderous  right  fist.  It  was  to  his 
undoing.  The  manager  neatly  side-stepped  the  blow. 
Smack  went  his  left  on  Johnny's  jaw,  and  down  went 
Johnny  in  a  motionless  heap. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Miss  Normanby,"  said  the  man- 
ager, coolly  turning  his  victim  on  his  back,  and  loosen- 
ing his  muffler ;  "  he'll  come  round  in  a  moment.  He's 
just  gone  down  to  the  nether  regions  for  a  little  while. 
I  didn't  hit  him  too  hard.  But  my  smattering  of  the 
classics  will  be  the  ruin  of  me  some  time  or  another. 
Here's  Denis,"  he  cried  with  some  relief.  "  We'll  hand 
his  wandering  sheep  over  to  him,  and  go  to  look  for  Mr. 
Jackson.  Look  here,  Denis,  I'm  surprised  that  a  man 
of  your  experience  would  employ  a  journeyman  with 
such  a  poor  head  for  drink." 

"  He's  been  at  a  wake,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the 
blacksmith  apologetically,  after  a  pause  for  breath. 

"  He'll  be  at  another  very  soon,  if  he  doesn't  mend  his 
ways,"  said  the  manager ;  "  and  one  he'll  keep  teetotal 
at  too.  Lift  his  head  a  little  more." 

"  I  believe  you've  killed  him,"  whispered  Miss  Nora, 
very  white  in  the  face. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Miss  Nora,"  said  the  blacksmith 
with  great  unconcern.  "  It's  the  big,  thick  neck  of  him. 
A  bull-necked  individual  like  himself  should  niver  taste 
dhrink  ;  for  if  he  falls  he  near  sthrangles  himself ;  f orby 
that  with  the  short  gullet  of  him  he  doesn't  get  half  the 
good  of  a  drop  that  an  ordinary  man  would.  He's  com- 
ing round  now." 

And  indeed  Johnny  after  a  few  struggles  did  sit  up 
and  look  around  him  stupidly. 

"  Get  away  on  down  to  the  forge,  you,"  said  the 
blacksmith  sternly,  "  and  lie  down  in  the  corner." 

The     voice     of     recognized     authority     prevailed. 


156       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Johnny  heaved  up  his  huge  bulk  and  shambled  off 
towards  the  forge. 

"  I'd  better  be  after  him,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  Wee  Miss  Woodburn  is  down  there,  and  if  Johnny 
comes  on  she'll  go  out  of  her  wits.  Herself  here,"  nod- 
ding at  Miss  Nora,  "  isn't  as  easy  frightened.  I'm 
say  in',  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  blacksmith,  affecting  a 
strategical  movement  of  escape,  "  if  ye  want  a  tight  girl 
to  help  ye  to  fill  that  big  Bank  House  of  yours  —  For 
the  love  of  heaven,  Miss  Nora,  don't  clod !  "  And  Denis 
took  to  his  heels.  But  too  late.  A  fair-sized  pebble 
took  him  violently  on  one  of  his  calves. 

"  And  I'll  say  this  for  her,"  he  called  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance, as  he  hopped  round  on  one  leg,  "  though  she  has 
lamed  me  for  life :  she's  the  only  girl  in  the  country  can 
throw  a  stone.  If  there's  iver  throuble  between  ye  give 
in  at  wanst.  The  young  lady'll  be  after  ye  in  a  minit," 
he  bellowed  as  he  disappeared. 

"  I  say,"  remarked  Miss  Nora  to  her  companion,  "  if 
you're  at  all  shy " 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  was,"  returned  the  manager  with 
regret.  "  I'd  be  a  good  ten  years  younger." 

"  Do  you  know,  you're  not  nearly  as  old  as  I 
thought,"  said  Miss  Nora,  appraising  him  frankly. 
She  paused  for  a  moment.  "  Look  here,  I  want  to  have 
it  out  with  you.  But  gracious !  "  she  cried,  "  I've  for- 
gotten all  about  poor  Jacks.  Here's  Gertie.  Hurry, 
Gertie,  till  we  see  if  Mr.  Jackson  is  hurt." 

But  half-way  to  the  scene  of  the  outbreak  of  war  they 
met  Mr.  Jackson  coming  along  slowly,  and  apparently 
not  much  the  worse.  Still,  he  was  pale,  and  rather  weak 
about  the  knees ;  and  after  a  council  it  was  decided,  in 
spite  of  his  protest,  to  escort  him  to  his  lodgings  and 
leave  him  there. 

The  manager,  bethinking  himself  at  the  moment  more 
of  the  strategy  of  his  youth  than  of  the  wisdom  of  his 
maturity,  abandoned  Miss  Nora  to  his  cashier  in  such 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        157 

a  very  pointed  manner  that  she  naturally  found  it  in- 
cumbent on  her  to  be  rather  cool  to  the  damaged  hero. 
Mr.  Jackson,  feeling  ill-used,  was  obliged  to  turn  faint 
after  a  few  steps,  whereupon  her  friend  Gertie  hurried 
up  so  solicitously  that  Miss  Nora  at  once  insisted  on 
taking  his  arm  till  he  reached  his  lodgings ;  with  the  re- 
sult that  news  of  the  engagement  of  the  couple  was  given 
out  definitely  in  that  quarter  of  the  town,  and  spread 
furiously  till  it  encountered  a  confused  report  of  battle 
and  murder,  the  death  of  Denis  O'Flaherty,  and  the 
elopement  of  Johnny  Raheny  with  Miss  Gertie  Wood- 
burn,  that  contended  against  it  into  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  and  kept  some  of  the  gossips  of  Portna- 
muck  awake  all  night. 

Meantime  the  four  had  arrived  at  Mr.  Jackson's 
lodgings. 

"  Well,  so  long,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Normanby.  "  I'm 
jolly  glad  you're  not  any  the  worse.  But  look  here, 
you  pick  a  smaller  man  next  time  you  want  to  fight.  I 
can't  afford  to  lose  an  old  pal." 

And  Miss  Nora  patted  the  cashier's  back  with  an  af- 
fectionate comradeship  that  at  any  other  time  would 
have  delighted  his  soul. 

But  Mr.  Jackson  felt  a  little  ill  and  shaken,  and  his 
head  was  aching.  He  pined  for  sentiment. 

He  was  not  to  go  unsatisfied.  As  the  manager  and 
Miss  Nora  turned  away  Miss  Woodburn  caught  the 
cashier's  sleeve  timidly  in  a  little  rush  of  emotion. 

"  I  think  you  are  just  the  bravest  man  I  ever  knew," 
she  breathed  hurriedly,  cast  a  shy  little  glance  in  Mr. 
Jackson's  face,  and  sped  after  the  others. 

It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  if  in  Mr.  Jackson's 
unsettled  slumbers  after  an  early  going  to  bed,  a  vision 
of  brown  eyes  sometimes  predominated  over  the  blue. 

The  manager,  who  had  lived  down  the  age  when  mere 
shyness  in  a  girl  is  attractive,  decided  that  the  proper 
course  was  to  leave  Miss  Gertrude  Woodburn  home  first, 


158        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

and  set  off  down  the  street  so  elated  at  being  in  the  com- 
pany of  two  good-looking  girls  under  twenty  that  his 
conversation  fairly  scintillated,  and,  strong  in  the 
safety  of  numbers,  demeaned  himself  so  gallantly  to- 
wards his  partners  that  Miss  Woodburn,  between  the 
charms  of  his  badinage  and  the  recollection  of  Mr. 
Jackson's  youthful  good  looks,  definitely  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  one  way  or  another  a  bank  man  was  her 
fate. 

Miss  Normanby  was  less  boisterous  than  usual,  and 
on  the  way  back  from  delivering  her  friend  at  home  con- 
tinued almost  silent  until  she  and  her  escort  were  clear 
of  the  town. 

"  Look  here  now,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  she  burst  out  sud- 
denly, "  I  want  to  have  it  out  with  you." 

"  Come  along  then,"  said  the  manager  meekly ;  "  I'm 
listening  in  all  humility." 

61  We'll  have  the  nice  part  first,"  said  Miss  Nora. 

"  That's  very  good  of  you,"  answered  the  manager. 
"  But  don't  make  it  too  nice ;  for  then  the  nasty  part 
will  be  all  the  nastier." 

"  You'd  better  be  serious,"  said  Miss  Nora  warn- 
ingly ;  "  for  I'm  serious  at  present,  and  you  might  never 
catch  me  serious  again.  I'm  not  much  troubled  that 
way." 

"  I'm  a  regular  Sphinx,"  replied  the  manager,  assum- 
ing an  air  of  great  gravity. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Miss  Nora,  "  first  of  all  I'm  sorry 
about  the  rat." 

"  I  was  a  bit  sorry  for  him  myself  at  first,"  said  the 
manager,  "  not  having  been  used  to  rats  before.  I  am 
afraid  he  wasn't  given  all  his  home  comforts.  But  Jane 
and  I  did  our  best ;  and  I  think  in  the  end  he  was  quite 
sorry  to  leave." 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  demanded  Miss  Nora,  "  do 
you  want  me  to  apologize  or  do  you  not?  " 

"  I  do  not,  then,"  answered  the  manager.     "  I  didn't 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        159 

mind  in  the  least,  rather  liked  it  in  fact.  Not  perhaps 
that  I'd  have  chosen  a  rat  myself ;  but  I'd  rather  you'd 
send  me  a  rat  than  nothing." 

"  And  you  weren't  mad  ?  "  asked  Miss  Nora. 

"  I  was  a  trifle  puzzled,"  answered  the  manager.  "  I 
used  to  know  something  of  the  language  of  flowers  in 
my  callow  days ;  but  the  language  of  animals  is  beyond 
me  even  now.  What  exactly  does  a  gift  of  a  rat  indi- 
cate ?  I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  mourn- 
fully, "  it's  not  a  token  of  goodwill." 

"  It  wasn't  this  time,  anyway,"  admitted  Miss  Nora. 
"  I  just  sent  it  to  spite  you  because  I  heard  you  were 
afraid  of  rats."  ("  H'm,"  thought  the  manager,  "  evi- 
dently all  I  say  to  my  cashier  goes  to  Miss  Nora.") 
"  I  was  dancing  mad  with  you,"  declared  Miss  Nora. 
"  And  I'm  not  too  pleased  with  you  yet." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  the  manager  in  astonishment. 
"  What  on  earth  have  I  ever  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  refused  to  lend  me  fifty  pounds,"  said  Miss 
Nora.  The  recollection  of  her  wrongs  returned  to  her 
and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  sparkle  of  indignation  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  remember  it,"  said  the  manager  plaintively. 

"  Well,  you  told  Mr.  Jackson  to  refuse  me,"  said  Miss 
Nora,  "  and  that's  just  as  bad.  It's  worse,"  she  said 
warmly.  "  It's  sneakier." 

"  Am  I  condemned  without  a  hearing?  "  asked  the 
manager  humbly,  "  or  may  I  defend  myself?  " 

"  Fire  away  then,"  said  Miss  Nora,  "  but  I  won't 
promise  to  believe  in  you,  mind." 

The  manager  hastily  rearranged  his  recollections  of 
the  incident,  with  a  view  perhaps  rather  to  effect  than 
to  veracity,  reflected  on  his  listener's  age  and  what 
glimpses  he  had  received  of  her  character,  and  resolved 
on  a  frontal  attack. 

"  First  of  all  then,"  he  said,  "  I  expected  you  would 
come  in  to  the  office." 


160       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  But  how  —  "  began  Miss  Nora,  a  little  consciously. 

'*  Well,"  said  the  manager,  "  Mr.  Jackson  had  told 
me  the  facts ;  that  your  father  was  coming  into  quite 
a  large  sum  of  money  through  his  brother,  who  had  some 
time  ago  died  abroad." 

"  But  how  on  earth  did  Jacks  know  that  ?  "  demanded 
Miss  Nora,  wide-eyed.  "  I'd  never  told  him  a  word ; 
and  I'm  sure  Dad  didn't ;  for  he's  been  ill  for  weeks." 

("  The  broad  facts  are  as  reported,"  noted  the  man- 
ager to  himself.) 

"  Very  likely  he  had  heard  only  a  rumor,"  he  said 
aloud.  "  But  I  thought  you  had  told  him.  And  know- 
ing that  you  and  he  were  good  chums " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that  too  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Nora 
sharply. 

"  No ;  that  7  had  from  rumor,"  said  the  manager. 
"  And  I  assumed  that  you  would,  of  course,  have  all  the 
banking  part  of  the  business  done  through  our  place  on 
account  of  the  lift  it  would  give  Mr.  Jackson." 

"  I  wouldn't  go  to  the  other  Bank  for  worlds,"  cried 
Miss  Nora  hastily,  then  blushed  darkly  as  she  remem- 
bered the  cause  of  her  vehemence.  "  But " 

"  Just  a  moment,"  said  the  manager.  "  Then  I  was 
a  little  conceited.  I  thought  that  my  experience  might 
make  me  of  more  value  to  your  father  and  yourself  in  a 
purely  business  transaction,  than  my  cashier,  who  is, 
unfortunately  "  —  the  manager  sighed  inwardly  — 
"  considerably  younger  than  I  am ;  and  asked  him  to  de- 
tain you  till  I  came  back.  Of  course  I  foresaw  that  you 
would  likely  need  a  small  advance  for  preliminary  ex- 
penses —  lawyer's  fees,  and  so  on.  I  think  that  was 
what  you  said  the  money  was  for " 

"  I  say,"  remarked  Miss  Nora  unexpectedly,  facing 
him  squarely  as  they  stopped  at  the  Rectory  gate. 
"  You're  a  pretty  cunning  old  fox,  aren't  you  ?  " 

The  manager's  laugh  rang  hearty  and  unabashed. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       161 

He  leant  forward  and  shook  Miss  Nora  gently  by  the 
arms. 

"  Sure  it's  the  great  girl  that  you  are  entirely,"  he 
said,  smiling  down  on  her.  "  Call  me  what  you  like  but 
old,  darlin'  dear,  and  I'll  confess  to  anything  short  of 
manslaughter.  But  if  you'd  come  in  to  me  I'd  have 
given  you  the  money  all  the  same." 

"  Would  you,  though,  really,"  said  Miss  Nora ; 
"  really  and  truly?  " 

The  voice  of  prudence  spoke  far  back  in  the  mana- 
ger's brain ;  but  he  rejoiced  to  find  the  warning  drowned 
by  his  hurrying  blood. 

"  And  if  you  looked  up  at  me  like  that  wouldn't  I 
give  you  the  soles  off  my  brogues,"  he  said. 

Some  little  time  later  the  manager  was  walking  pen- 
sively towards  the  town.  The  slightly  lingering  grasp 
of  Miss  Nora's  warm  young  fingers  still  tingled  in  his 
palm. 

"  Bad  luck  to  it,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  kind  of 
satisfied  remorse,  "  it  takes  a  man  longer  to  learn  sense 
than  I  thought.  But  Lord,  hasn't  she  got  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes." 

He  groaned  softly,  and  slackened  his  pace  still  more. 
Then  he  quickened  it  again,  and  stepped  out  smartly 
homewards. 

"  Anyhow,"  he  said  briskly.  "  I'm  pretty  sure  of  the 
account  now." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  is  probable  that  Miss  Woodburn's  shyness  would 
have  prevented  her  from  following  up  immediately 
her  timid  attack  on  Mr.  Jackson's  heart;  but  in 
any  case  that  course  was  rendered  impossible  by  her 
being  dispatched  by  her  mother  to  visit  an  aunt. 

Then  the  cashier  encountered  Miss  Nora  in  the  town 
some  time  after  the  Johnny  Raheny  episode,  and  she 
greeted  him  with  such  an  air  of  nonchalance  that  his 
affections,  already  relieved  of  any  disturbing  influence, 
at  once  swung  back  to  normal. 

He  made  several  attempts  to  discuss  the  new  develop- 
ment in  the  office;  but  was  puzzled  to  find  his  chief 
smitten  with  a  sudden  desire  for  silence  and  hard 
work  —  due,  if  he  had  known,  to  a  mingling  of  alarm 
and  pricking  of  conscience. 

Outside,  in  the  town  and  country,  matters  began  to 
hum  in  connexion  with  the  new  woolen  factory.  Mi- 
chael Brannegan  and  his  colleagues  threw  aside  their 
reticence.  It  was  publicly  announced  that  a  chartered 
accountant  from  Belfast  was  shortly  to  be  summoned 
to  their  councils,  and  that  a  public  meeting  in  connexion 
with  the  new  project  might  be  expected  any  time. 

These  decisive  steps  were  correctly  attributed  by  the 
local  gossips  to  the  visit  of  a  deputation  —  consisting 
of  Big  Michael  and  his  cronies  —  to  the  Rectory ;  the 
news  of  which,  though  it  was  made  after  dark,  trans- 
pired within  half  an  hour  of  the  party's  arrival  at  the 
Rectory  gate. 

It  was  discovered  also  that  shortly  afterwards  Mr. 
Berryman  had  made  an  evening  call  at  the  Rectory. 

162 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       163 

Later  reports  said  that  he  had  not  succeeded  in  getting 
in,  having  been  repulsed  at  the  hall  door  with  some  con- 
tumely by  Miss  Nora  herself. 

No  news,  however,  came  to  hand  of  a  counter-move 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Wildridge;  and  unfavorable  com- 
ments were  made  on  his  quiescence  in  the  face  of  his 
rival's  energy. 

The  cobbler,  a  hot  partisan  of  Mr.  Jackson,  early 
noted  the  discontinuance  of  Miss  Normanby's  visits  to 
the  Bank,  and  at  once  communicated  this  disquieting 
fact  to  his  wife,  who,  being  also  a  warm  Jacksonite, 
was  stung  to  make  a  diversion  on  behalf  of  the  cashier. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Berryman,  in  active  pursuit  of 
popularity  and  the  business  of  the  new  woolen  factory, 
had  quite  effectively  kissed  the  children  of  a  number  of 
the  humbler  possible  shareholders  in  the  proposed  com- 
pany, and  sent  them  home  to  acquaint  their  mothers 
that  he  had  done  so. 

Unfortunately,  he  committed  the  mistake  of  kissing 
some  of  the  cobbler's  children,  and  their  warm-hearted 
mother  speedily  discovering  from  them  the  names  of  the 
others  kissed,  at  once  made  a  tour  of  their  households, 
and  denounced  Mr.  Berryman  so  convincingly  as  a  slip- 
pery old  lickspittle  that  the  North-Eastern  Bank  was 
thought  to  have  lost  considerable  ground  in  that  neigh- 
borhood. 

The  chartered  accountant,  when  he  arrived,  turned 
out  to  be  a  very  young  man.  Scenting  a  good  con- 
nexion, he  had,  as  Michael  Brannegan  astutely  foresaw, 
not  only  accepted  a  ridiculously  small  fee,  but  at  once 
threw  himself  into  a  canvass  of  the  district  with  an  en- 
thusiasm that  a  more  experienced  man  would  have  long 
outgrown.  His  first  visit  was  to  a  country  public-house 
that  was  known  to  command  a  large  extent  of  country. 
Here,  finding  it  necessary  to  bestow  and  receive  a  good 
deal  of  hospitality  and  being  a  temperate  young  man, 
he  devoted  himself  incautiously  to  the  delusive  chemical 


164       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

vended  in  such  places  under  the  generic  title  of  "  wine," 
and  returned  to  Portnamuck  in  a  condition  of  close 
brotherhood  with  the  whole  human  race. 

Mr.  Wildridge,  instantly  acquainted  with  his  favor- 
able state  of  mind  by  the  blacksmith,  called  on  him 
forthwith.  But  the  chartered  accountant,  to  the  man- 
ager's disgust,  proved  an  unconscious  disciple  of  the 
ancient  Germans,  and  though  showing  himself  amicably 
disposed  towards  the  Downshire  Bank,  or  indeed  to  any 
bank  whose  representative  might  present  himself,  ob- 
stinately refused  to  come  to  any  decision  till  he  had 
enjoyed  a  sleep. 

On  his  awaking,  a  meeting  of  the  principals  was  held 
in  Michael's  bar-parlor.  The  question  of  a  bank  ac- 
count was  brought  up.  Mr.  Finnegan,  with  the  land- 
lord's entire  concurrence,  delivered  an  oration  that 
lasted  through  the  consumption  of  three  rounds  of 
drinks,  and  was  followed  by  the  seedsman,  who,  after 
demonstrating  beyond  any  doubt  that  the  account  of 
the  new  factory  would  result  in  the  ultimate  bankruptcy 
of  any  bank  that  was  foolish  enough  to  accept  it,  ended 
by  showing  the  futility  of  the  discussion,  since  the  fac- 
tory proposal  would  inevitably  end  in  smoke.  Michael, 
who  might  be  considered  an  impartial  adviser,  having 
sold  a  case  of  whisky  to  each  of  the  local  managers  dur- 
ing the  chartered  accountant's  slumbers,  enhanced  his 
reputation  for  wisdom  by  recommending  that  both 
banks  should  be  approached  with  a  view  to  obtaining  the 
most  favorable  terms. 

But  the  blacksmith  had  been  primed  by  the  absent 
Mr.  Wildridge.  During  the  discussion  he  had  allowed 
his  three  drinks  to  remain  untasted  before  him  in  order 
to  take  full  advantage  of  the  psychological  moment, 
and,  rising  after  the  landlord's  speech,  he  showed  so 
conclusively  the  necessity  of  leaving  the  nomination  of  a 
bank  to  the  expected  largest  shareholder,  Mr.  Nor- 
manby,  that  his  motion  was  carried  unanimously. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        165 

The  public  meeting  was  fixed  for  the  following  week, 
the  adherence  of  Mr.  Normanby  to  the  project  and  his 
promised  presence  at  the  meeting  disclosed  to  those  who 
had  not  formed  part  of  the  deputation ;  and  the  assem- 
bly settled  down  to  spend  the  balance  of  the  night  in 
drinking  success  to  the  new  company. 

Mr.  Jackson,  in  the  interests  of  business,  spent  most 
of  the  evening  wandering  uneasily  up  and  down  be- 
tween Michael  Brannegan's  and  the  Rectory  gate,  and, 
being  on  familiar  terms  with  almost  every  passer-by, 
was  early  apprised  of  the  latest  developments  in  the  bar- 
parlor,  which  Terry,  released  from  his  vow  of  secrecy, 
had  disseminated  with  even  more  than  his  usual  assid- 
uity. 

By  ten  o'clock,  in  his  anxiety  to  obtain  full  particu- 
lars, the  cashier  had  collected  so  many  different  versions 
that  he  thought  it  better  to  wait  for  Mr.  Finnegan,  who 
was  due  to  pass  that  way  on  his  journey  home,  and  be- 
fore he  had  disentangled  the  facts  from  Mr.  Finnegan's 
verbiage  it  was  too  late  to  call  at  the  Bank.  So  he  took 
himself  off  to  bed,  where  he  passed  half  the  night  won- 
dering why  Miss  Nora  had  not  confided  in  him  as  she 
had  promised,  and  growing  more  fond  of  her  every  time 
he  recollected  how  coolly  she  had  greeted  him  that  day 
in  the  street. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  betimes,  but  unavailingly ; 
for  his  landlady,  already  perturbed  by  his  second  early 
retiral  to  bed  within  a  week,  was  so  flabbergasted  by 
his  punctual  appearance  for  breakfast  at  the  appointed 
hour  of  nine  o'clock  that  in  her  flurry  she  dropped  the 
tea-pot  and  its  scalding  contents  on  her  foot,  and  in 
consequence  Mr.  Jackson  after  a  blasphemous  breakfast 
on  bread  and  butter  and  cold  milk  did  not  arrive  at  the 
scene  of  his  duties  till  almost  ten  o'clock. 

To  his  double  surprise  he  found  the  manager  in  full 
possession  of  the  facts  and  quite  calm. 

"  Thanks  to  your  influence  with  Miss  Nora,"  said  Mr. 


166       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Wildridge  diplomatically,  "  we  are  quite  sure  of  both 
the  factory  account  and  her  father's,  and  she  is  certain 
to  give  you  full  particulars  of  the  inheritance  before  the 
meeting." 

"  It's  queer  she  hasn't  said  something  to  me  about  it 
already,  sir,"  said  Jackson.  "  And  she  was  kind  of 
stand-off  with  me  last  time  we  met." 

The  manager  felt  an  instant's  uneasiness  as  he  recol- 
lected one  or  two  conversations  of  which  only  Miss  Nora 
and  himself  were  aware ;  but  tried  to  reassure  himself  by 
running  over  in  his  mind  the  substance  of  them. 

"  Don't  be  upset,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  These  are  the 
usual  little  incidents  of  a  campaign  like  yours,  even  with 
the  best  of  them.  Varium  et  mutabile  semper  femina  — 
'  weemin  is  very  ondependable  bein's  —  as  an  old  coun- 
try friend  of  mine  puts  it.  Depend  upon  it  Miss  Nora 
means  to  be  particularly  nice  to  you  next  time.  And 
that  next  time  won't  be  very  far  away." 

In  confirmation  of  the  manager's  psychology,  a  note 
was  delivered  shortly  afterwards,  asking  Mr.  Jackson 
to  be  sure  and  call  at  the  Rectory  that  evening. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,"  said  the  manager,  with  less 
satisfaction,  though,  than  one  might  have  expected. 

"  Do  you  know,  Jackson,"  he  added  after  a  monment 
of  meditation,  "  it's  harder  than  one  would  think  for 
a  man  to  remember  that  he's  thirty-eight  and  growing 
bald."  He  pulled  himself  up  briskly  in  answer  to  his 
cashier's  look  of  bewilderment.  "  Now  I  have  a  little 
piece  of  advice  to  give  you  about  to-night.  So  far  as 
the  Bank  side  of  things  goes  all  is  plain  sailing.  You 
have  merely  to  listen  to  what  Miss  Nora  or  her  father 
tells  you.  You  can  depend  on  what  either  of  them  says. 
But  there's  your  own  little  affair  to  be  looked  to.  My 
counsel  is,  if  you  get  a  chance  with  Miss  Nora  alone, 
speak  before  you  hear  any  particulars  of  her  fortune. 
Not,  mind  you,  that  I  think  she'd  doubt  you.  But  if 
you  put  off  committing  yourself  till  you  are  sure  she's 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       167 

an  heiress  you  place  a  card  up  her  sleeve,  and  later  on 
when  you  stay  out  too  late  at  a  Masonic  dinner,  or  any 
other  little  deception  of  the  kind,  such  a  card  has  a  way 
of  coming  down. 

"  Of  course  there's  the  danger  of  the  fortune  turning 
out  to  be  much  less  than  you  believed.  But  you  must 
run  your  chance  of  that.  Hang  it,"  said  the  manager, 
walking  up  and  down  the  office  in  some  exaltation,  "  I'd 
marry  her  if  she  hadn't  a  penny.  That  is  "  -1-  he  put 
in  hastily  — "  if  I  were  your  age  again. 

"  Besides,  there's  always  the  danger  of  some  fortune- 
hunting  fellow  turning  up.  There's  nobody  of  the  class 
here  at  present  but  your  friend  Percy,  and  I  don't  think 
you  need  be  afraid  of  him;  but  if  Miss  Nora  escapes 
now,  and  weathers  the  romantic  age,  which  she'll  do  all 
the  quicker  now  that  she  has  money  —  it's  a  devilish 
queer  thing,  Jackson,  and  worth  investigating,  but  a 
girl's  seldom  romantic  unless  she's  poor  —  begad,  she 
might  turn  up  her  nose  at  a  bank  clerk.  Take  my  ad- 
vice," said  the  manager,  with  an  impressiveness  that  was 
perhaps  not  quite  disinterested,  "  and  put  your  fate  be- 
yond question  to-night.  If  she  ever  gets  out  into  the 
big  world  the  men  will  be  after  her  in  droves.  And  if 
she's  safely  engaged  it  will  save  many  a  decent  man, 
maybe  even  here  in  Portnamuck,  from  making  a  fool  of 
himself." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,"  said  Jackson  a  little  dubiously. 
"  But  somehow  I'm  not  so  sure  latterly  that  I'm  as  well 
in  there  as  you  think.  And  she's  the  very  devil  for  a 
joke.  She  might  have  been  only  leading  me  on  to  make 
a  fool  of  myself." 

The  manager  paused  in  his  walk,  and  looked  at  Mr. 
Jackson  intently.  A  slight  pucker  came  between  his 
eyebrows. 

"  There's  something  in  what  you  say,  Jackson,"  he 
remarked  thoughtfully.  "  The  same  big  lassie  could  do 
it.  Older  and  wiser  men  than  you  would  have  trouble 


168       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

in  holding  out  against  her.  Jackson,  my  son,"  said  the 
manager  earnestly,  "  marry  her  as  soon  as  you  can. 
It's  your  duty  towards  humanity.  A  girl  like  that  go- 
ing about  is  a  public  danger." 

"  Now  you're  chaffing  me,  sir,"  said  Jackson. 

But  the  manager  in  his  heart  was  not  so  sure  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ABOUT  half  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time 
that  night  Mr.  Jackson  set  out  for  the  Rec- 
tory. Passing  Big  Michael  Brannegan's  he 
was  hailed  by  Terry  from  the  sill  where  he  was  repairing 
a  window-sash. 

"  I  see  where  you're  headin'  for,  Misther  Jackson," 
whispered  Terry  archly ;  "  an'  you're  not  makin'  much 
of  a  mistake.  Ye  have  an  oi  in  your  head,  now.  She's 
a  powerful  bit  of  stuff.  Don't  be  backward  wid  her, 
Misther  Jackson.  Woire  into  her.  That  wan  niver 
has  been  handled  before,  an'  if  ye  threw  an  arm  round 
her,  bedambut  she'd  go  up  a  tree  afther  ye.  Don't  be 
offinded,  now ;  it's  good  advice  I'm  givin'  ye.  An' 
there's  the  ha'pence,  too,  to  think  about;  an'  the  same 
is  not  to  be  despised.  It's  a  moighty  quare  thing  to 
think  of  Mr.  Lawrence  makin'  a  fortune,"  said  Terry, 
descending  from  his  window-sill.  "  'Twas  a  woman  was 
the  means  of  him  makin'  it,  too." 

"How,  Terry?"  asked  Jackson  interested.  "I've 
never  heard  that  side  of  it.  Did  he  marry  a  woman 
with  mone}7  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  thin,"  answered  Terry.  "  There's  two 
ways,  Misther  Jackson,  of  bein'  lucky  with  a  woman; 
the  wan  is  gettin'  her,  an'  the  other  is  not  gettin'  her. 
'Twas  the  second  kind  of  luck  fell  Mr.  Lawrence's  way. 
This  was  how  it  was."  Terry  peeped  cautiously  into 
the  bar,  and  then  proceeded  to  light  a  short  clay  pipe. 
"  There  was  a  little  blade  of  a  barmaid  here  when  I  was 
a  boy  cleanin'  knives  —  a  very  gingery  piece  of  stuff 
she  was  —  and  the  whole  menkind  av  the  disthrict  was 

169 


170       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

sniffin'  afther  her,  an'  divil  a  man  wantin'  to  marry  her 
but  the  wan  man,  a  big  well-to-do  young  farmer  up  in 
the  hills,  that  had  got  a  dale  of  money  from  his  father, 
and  moighty  little  brains.  The  little  divil  would  have 
married  him,  too,  an'  all  was  as  good  as  settled,  whin 
here  doesn't  me  bould  Mr.  Lawrence  come  on  the  scene, 
an'  before  a  month  wasn't  she  runnin'  afther  him  loike 
a  dog.  It  wasn't  long  till  people  was  sayin', — 
well,  nivir  mind  what  they  were  sayin',  but  it  was 
the  gospel  truth  anyway  —  an'  it  wasn't  very  much 
longer  till  it  come  to  the  sweetheart's  ears.  He  had  been 
vexed  before,  an'  a  kind  of  suspicious  wid  the  weddin' 
still  bein'  put  off  an'  off ;  an'  whin  he  heard  this,  bedam- 
but  he  went  black  mad.  The  man  that  told  it  to  him 
came  into  the  bar  aftherwards  for  a  dhrink,  an'  the 
glass  was  shakin'  in  his  hand.  But  what  does  the 
farmer  do?  Divil  a  word  he  says  to  herself,  good  or 
bad,  but  goes  home  for  the  double-barreled  gun  and 
waits  for  Mr.  Lawrence  at  his  own  gate.  He  didn't 
hide  or  lay  low  for  him  at  all,  but  stood  there  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  wid  both  barrels  at  full  cock.  An' 
'twas  the  mercy  of  Providence  he  did,  for  somebody  seen 
him  an'  warned  Mr.  Lawrence  in  toime.  The  nixt  word 
of  Mr.  Lawrence  was  that  he  was  out  of  the  counthry. 
He  was  about  roipe  for  lavin'  anyway,  be  rayson  of  the 
power  of  debt  he  was  undher ;  an'  I  suppose  some  of  the 
friends  that  would  rather  he'd  be  hanged  in  America 
than  shot  at  home,  gave  him  a  bit  of  a  lift ;  but  anyhow 
that  was  the  last  of  him,  till  now  he's  goin'  to  make  the 
fortunes  of  the  whole  of  us.  An'  bedambut,"  said 
Terry,  climbing  on  his  window-sill  with  surprising  agil- 
ity, "  there's  the  boss  has  been  watchin'  me  from  the  bar. 
Good  luck  to  ye,  Misther  Jackson ;  an'  don't  be  afraid  to 
put  the  paws  on  her !  " 

Inspired  by  this  confirmation  of  his  chief's  advice, 
Mr.  Jackson  strode  manfully  up  the  Rectory  path. 
But  the  door  was  opened  to  him  by  such  a  serious  Miss 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       171 

Nora   that  his   own  particular   concerns   temporarily 
vanished  from  his  thoughts. 

"  What  on  earth's  wrong,  Nora,"  he  cried.  "  Is 
your  father  ill?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Jacks,"  she  answered ;  "  Dad's  all  right,  ex- 
cept for  his  cold,  and  that's  nearly  better.  But  look 
here,  you  know  what  I  promised  to  tell  you?  " 

Jackson  nodded.  "  Well,  I'm  in  an  awful  worry 
about  it.  Wait  though.  Come  in  till  I  light  the  lamp." 

Mr.  Jackson  made  his  way  into  the  dark  hall,  and 
bumped  into  something  hard. 

"  Steady  on,  that's  the  table,"  said  Miss  Nora  out  of 
the  darkness.  "  Watch  you  don't  upset  the  lamp. 
Feel  for  the  matches  like  a  good  boy." 

Mr.  Jackson's  hands  wandered  gropingly  over  the 
table.  Presently  they  encountered  Miss  Nora's  on  the 
same  quest ;  and  on  the  moment  Terry's  counsel  flashed 
across  his  mind.  Now  or  never  was  the  time,  he  felt. 
He  moved  along  till  he  brushed  lightly  against  his  com- 
panion, and  made  a  swift  pass  with  his  right  arm.  A 
drum  was  thumping  violently  in  his  ears.  But  it  was 
not  beating  to  victory.  Miss  Nora  had  moved  in  the 
opposite  direction,  and  his  arm  encircled  empty  space. 
He  cursed  himself  for  his  feeling  of  relief.  Shame  sup- 
plied in  part  the  lack  of  ardor.  He  moved  again  to- 
wards Miss  Nora,  and  stretched  out  a  hand  uncertainly. 
Alas!  it  touched  the  globe  of  the  lamp.  He  heard 
the  glass  ring  on  the  table  as  it  overbalanced,  and 
clutched  too  late  at  the  rolling  cylinder.  There  was  a 
crash. 

"  Well,  bad  luck  to  you,  Jacks,  for  a  clumsy  pig," 
cried  Miss  Nora  with  a  swift  return  to  her  usual  raci- 
ness  of  expression,  "  and  that's  the  only  globe  in  the 
house.  Here,  never  mind,  we  must  go  in  to  Dad. 
There's  his  voice.  Listen,  Jacks  —  he's  going  to  tell 
you  the  whole  story.  Don't  question  anything  he  says, 
and  when  you're  going  I'll  leave  you  to  the  gate  and  tell 


172        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

you  what's  bothering  me.  All  right,  Dad,  here's  Mr. 
Jackson." 

Mr.  Normanby  received  the  cashier  with  old-fash- 
ioned courtesy,  and  apologized  for  his  dressing-gown. 

"  You  see  my  cold  is  still  clinging  to  me,  Mr.  Jack- 
son," he  said.  "  I'm  not  so  robust  as  I  used  to  be  —  a 
bit  of  a  crock  as  you  modern  young  men  would  say, 
eh?  " 

And  indeed  the  old  man  looked  so  fragile  and  trans- 
parent that  Mr.  Jackson  hastened  to  assure  him  that  he 
had  never  seen  him  looking  so  well;  for  which  he  was 
rewarded  by  a  grateful  gleam  from  Miss  Nora's  blue 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I've  weathered  it  this  time,"  answered 
Mr.  Normanby ;  "  an  old  salt,  Mr.  Jackson,  but  a  little 
buffeted  by  the  waves  of  time.  And  to  pursue  my  met- 
aphor I  think  I  have  safely  made  a  haven  of  prosperity. 
It  was  to  tell  you  of  it  that  I  took  perhaps  a  liberty 
in  summoning  you  here  to-night.  My  good  fortune  is 
no  longer  prospective,  Mr.  Jackson ;  it  has  materialized. 
And  as  I  intend  that  your  Bank  shall  have  some  small 
share  in  my  good  luck,  I  thought  it  right  to  make  you 
acquainted  with  the  particulars  of  the  blessing  that  has 
been  vouchsafed  me.  For  it  is  a  blessing,"  he  continued 
half  to  himself,  "  to  have  it  in  one's  power  to  be  a  source 
of  blessing  to  others.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said, 
looking  a  little  dazedly  at  the  cashier ;  "  I  was  dreaming 
again,  I  fear." 

But  Mr.  Jackson  also  had  to  recall  his  wandering  at- 
tention. He  had  been  covertly  studying  Miss  Nora  as 
the  rays  of  the  lamp  fell  on  her  face  turned  earnestly 
towards  her  father,  and  making  up  his  mind  that  after 
all  there  was  nothing  to  compare  with  blue  eyes  and  fair 
curls. 

"  I  must  make  a  confession,  Mr.  Jackson,"  went  on 
Mr.  Normanby.  "  I  was  so  much  taken  with  the  cour- 
tesy of  your  new  manager  that  it  was  at  first  my  inten- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       173 

tion  to  communicate  with  him ;  and  indeed  as  a  matter  of 
etiquette  perhaps  I  should  have  done  so.  But  Nora 
here  was  insistent  that  I  should  tell  you  the  story  first. 
I  think,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  with  a  shade  of  archness, 
"  that  Nora  is  a  little  impressed  with  your  business  qual- 
ifications." 

Miss  Nora  blushed  at  the  speech,  and  Mr.  Jackson, 
such  is  the  inconsistency  of  our  nature,  had  a  sudden 
realization  of  the  charms  of  liberty  and  brown  eyes. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  begin  the  story,  Dad  dear,"  said 
Miss  Nora.  "  You  know  there's  quite  a  lot  of  it,  and  I 
can't  let  you  tire  yourself." 

"  A  tyrant,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  her  father,  smiling 
fondly  at  her,  and  making  room  as  she  sat  down  on  a 
stool  at  his  side ;  "  a  great  big  tyrant.  But  an  affec- 
tionate big  tyrant,  too,"  and  he  patted  her  curls,  while 
the  cashier,  who  expected  a  grimace,  beheld  the  sur- 
prising spectacle  of  tomboy  Miss  Nora  snuggling  up  to 
her  father  and  openly  worshiping  him.  His  manager's 
eulogies  rushed  on  his  mind  again,  and  he  superfluously 
consigned  the  hall-lamp  globe  to  perdition. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Normanby,  "  it's  a  long  story,  and 
I'm  afraid  I'm  a  tedious  and  wandering  story-teller. 
Light  your  pipe,  Mr.  Jackson  —  well,  a  cigarette 
then  —  some  of  these  days  Nora  and  I  will  be  having 
cigars  for  our  special  friends,  eh,  lassie  ?  —  and  I'll 
begin." 


CHAPTER  XX 

MY  brother  Lawrence,  Mr.  Jackson,"  began  the 
old  gentleman,  "  was  considerably  older  than 
I,  and  of  a  much  more  daring  and  romantic 
character.     He  was   a  fine,  handsome  man  —  with   a 
dashing,   reckless  way   with  him   that   covered,   I   am 
afraid,  a  good  many  little  weaknesses.     Indeed,  my  dear 
young  friend,  I  fear  it  was  his  failings  that  endeared 
him  to  the  people  generally.     We  Irish  have  always  a 
soft  spot  for  the  scapegrace.     If  you  have  ever  heard 

him  spoken  of " 

*'  Indeed  I  have,  sir,"  said  Jackson,  "  many  a  time." 
"  Then  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  on  account  of  his  works 
of  grace,"  said  Mr.  Normanby. 

"  Only  the  virtues  of  the  just 

Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  their  dust. 

So  says  the  poet,  or  something  like  it.  I  am  afraid  he 
was  an  English  poet,"  said  Mr.  Normanby,  smiling  a 
little. 

"  But  you  are  not  to  think  that  my  poor  brother  was 
a  wicked  man.  Far  from  it.  Foolish  indeed  he  was, 
and  wild,  but  tender-hearted  and  chivalrous  to  a  fault. 
It  was  through  his  fine  feeling  of  chivalry,  Mr.  Jack- 
son, that  we  lost  him  at  last. 

"  It  happened  that  there  came  to  the  hotel  now  owned 
by  Mr.  Brannegan  a  young  lady  in  the  capacity  of  —  a 
barmaid,  in  short" — ("Good  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Jack- 
son to  himself,  with  a  glance  at  Nora)  —  "  and  my 
brother,"  went  on  Mr.  Normanby  unnoticing,  "  became 

174 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       175 

acquainted  with  her.  He  was  not,  as  you  may  have 
gathered,  Mr.  Jackson,  a  teetotaller  —  I  hope,  my  dear 
young  friend,  that  you  will  mark  this ;  and  the  ac- 
quaintance grew  and  ripened  into  friendship;  and  ulti- 
mately "  —  Mr.  Jackson  felt  his  neck  turning  red  — 
"  into  love,  on  my  brother's  part  at  least.  I  cannot  un- 
derstand how  a  Normanby  could  have  so  far  forgot- 
ten himself.  Nay,"  said  the  old  man,  checking  himself, 
"  how  can  I  say  that?  Are  we  not  all  one  flesh?  It  is 
enough,  my  dear  young  man,  that  he  loved  the  girl.  He 
had  reason  also  to  believe  that  his  love  was  returned,  or 
thought  he  had,  and  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  his 
feelings,  when  fate  —  when  perhaps  Providence,  inter- 
vened. 

"  There  was  a  young  farmer  resident  in  the  neighbor- 
hood "  —  Mr.  Jackson  sat  up  quickly  —  "  and  un- 
known to  almost  everybody  he,  too,  had  fallen  in  love 
with  this  girl.  It  seems  that  she  had  smiled  on  his  suit 
in  secret  until  my  brother  began  to  make  advances,  but 
then  cooled  towards  him. 

"  The  poor  fellow  fell  into  an  almost  lunatic  state  of 
despair,  and  at  last  formed  a  dreadful  resolution.  He 
armed  himself  with  a  double-barreled  gun,  and  took  up 
his  position  at  our  gate  —  my  father  was  Rector  here 
before  me,  Mr.  Jackson  —  determined  to  commit  sui- 
cide before  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  his  undoing. 
My  brother  came  along ;  the  farmer  uttered  a  few  words 
of,  I  fear  —  indeed  my  brother  told  me  so  —  blasphe- 
mous reproach,  and  put  the  muzzle  to  his  head."  Miss 
Nora  grasped  her  father's  arm  tightly.  "  But  just  as 
he  was  about  to  pull  the  trigger,  Lawrence  sprang  at 
him  and  tore  the  gun  from  his  hands."  Miss  Nora's 
grasp  relaxed.  "  The  poor  fellow  glared  at  him  for  a 
moment,  then  burst  into  tears.  My  brother  brought 
him  into  our  summer-house  and  patiently  drew  the 
whole  story  from  him.  Then  he  exacted  a  promise  from 
the  man  that  he  would  not  seek  to  do  himself  further  in- 


176       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

jury  for  seven  days,  and  sent  him  home.  That  night 
my  poor  brother  spent  walking  up  and  down  his  bed- 
room in  the  extremity  of  mental  agony  —  he  told  me 
so  —  and  next  morning  he  came  to  me.  He  had  won  the 
fight  and  triumphed  over  himself.  With  a  spirit  of 
chivalry  and  self-sacrifice,  that  more  than  redeemed  all 
his  former  weakness  and  indulgence,  he  had  resolved  to 
give  the  girl  up  to  his  rival.  But  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  bear  to  witness  the  consummation  of  his  sacrifice. 
He  must  leave  the  country ;  and  he  came  to  me  for 
help  —  er  —  financial  help." 

Mr.  Jackson  smiled,  caught  Miss  Nora's  eye,  and  in- 
stantly looked  grave  again. 

"  I  may  say,  Mr.  Jackson,"  went  on  Mr.  Normanby 
with  some  hesitation,  "  that  this  was  not  my  brother's 
first  appeal  to  me  for  assistance ;  and  indeed  —  I  sor- 
row to  think  of  it  now  —  I  had  come  at  last  to  refuse 
him.  But  in  the  face  of  such  nobility,  such  self-abnega- 
tion, what  could  I  do  but  what  I  did.  I  gave  him  prac- 
tically all  I  possessed  "  —  Miss  Nora  again  pressed  her 
father's  arm,  but  softly  —  "  and  to-day  I  regret  even 
the  little  that  I  retained.  He  left  me.  I  have  never  seen 
him  since.  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  Mr.  Jackson." 

The  old  man's  voice  broke,  and  he  was  silent  for  a 
little.  Mr.  Jackson  wished  fervently  that  he  had  been 
within  kicking  distance  of  the  prodigal. 

"  And  now  comes  the  amazing  part  of  the  story," 
resumed  Mr.  Normanby,  waking  suddenly  out  of  his 
reverie.  "  Whether  from  the  new  surroundings  and 
companions,  or,  as  I  prefer  to  think,  from  the  purifying 
influence  of  a  great  sacrifice,  my  brother's  whole  char- 
acter suddenly  changed.  You  will  hear  later  how  I 
learned  this.  From  an  idle  scapegrace  he  turned  into  a 
steady,  industrious  man.  It  is  true  that  the  spirit  of 
adventure  had  not  quitted  him ;  for  shortly  after  his  ar- 
rival in  America  "  —  ("  Then  it  was  America,"  thought 
Jackson)  —  he  embarked  with  some  chance  acquaint- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       177 

ances  on  a  gold-discovering  expedition.  The  adventur- 
ers were  successful,  Mr.  Jackson,  successful  beyond 
their  wildest  hopes.  In  a  few  years'  time  they  had 
gained  fortunes  that  even  in  that  land  of  wealth  would 
be  considered  almost  '  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice  '  — 
you  remember  Dr.  Johnson's  saying?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  smiled  vaguely,  but  discreetly  remained 
silent. 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  do,"  said  Mr.  Normanby.  "  I'm  de- 
lighted, my  dear  young  friend.  A  taste  for  good  read- 
ing is  a  humanizing  and  refining  influence.  I  love  to 
see  a  young  man  with  one  of  our  classics  in  his  hand; 
and  there  is  none  better  than  Boswell.  We  must  dis- 
cuss him  some  of  these  nights.  It's  capital,  my  dear 
lad,  to  find  you  with  a  real  taste  for  literature." 

Miss  Nora,  who  had  some  little  notion  of  the  range  of 
the  cashier's  reading,  permitted  herself  a  characteristic 
grin  of  delight  at  Mr.  Jackson's  uneasy  squirm. 

"  Not,"  continued  Mr.  Normanby,  "  that  I  would  like 
to  see  a  young  man  too  bookish.  But  a  slight  tincture 
of  letters  has  a  sanative  influence  on  the  mind.  Now 
here  is  Nora,  who  is  a  little  bit  doggy  —  aren't  you  a 
little  bit  doggy,  too,  Mr.  Jackson?  "  —  Mr.  Normanby 
again  looked  a  trifle  arch  —  "  and  you'd  be  surprised  at 
what  she  has  read." 

Mr.  Normanby  would  probably  have  been  somewhat 
surprised  himself;  and  it  was  Miss  Nora's  turn  to  look 
uneasy. 

"  Now,  Dad,"  she  said,  finger  uplifted,  "  time  will 
soon  be  up." 

"  You  see  how  I  am  tyrannized  over,"  said  Mr.  Nor- 
manby with  simulated  wrath.  "  But  Nora  is  quite 
right.  I  must  get  on  with  my  story.  Well,  Mri  Jack- 
son, as  I  said,  my  poor  brother's  character  was  suddenly 
transformed.  Nothing,  not  the  wild  and  lawless  beings 
among  whom  he  was  thrown,  not  the  manifold  tempta- 
tions of  an  almost  pagan  life,  not  even  wealth  itself 


178       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

could  now  tempt  him  from  the  path  of  sobriety  and  rec- 
titude. He  amassed,  as  I  have  said,  a  huge  fortune, 
and  in  process  of  time  settled  down  to  enjoy  it. 

"  He  did  not  marry ;  the  wound  had  been  too  deep  to 
heal  lightly  —  till  at  last  the  little  seed  of  romance  in 
his  heart  burst  into  leaf  and  flower  again.  You  must 
not  mind  my  occasional  exuberance  of  language,  Mr. 
Jackson  "  —  Mr.  Normanby  interrupted  himself  — • 
"  at  my  age  one  sometimes  forgets  he  is  not  in  the 
pulpit. 

"  In  short,  sir,  my  brother  fell  in  love  again,  and  with 
even  more  than  his  old  intensity  of  passion.  She  was 
a  Spaniard,  Mr.  Jackson,  and  a  lovely  and  loving  crea- 
ture, as  I  am  informed.  My  brother  was  supremely 
happy  in  his  wedded  life. 

"  But  it  was  alas !  fated  to  be  short  and  chequered. 

"  His  wife  was  a  daughter  of  an  old  Spanish  noble 
house,  always  renowned  for  their  courage  and  loyalty, 
and  with  what  I  must  judge  to  be  a  mistaken  sense  of 
honor  they  had  thrown  in  their  lot  with  Don  Carlos. 
Do  you  know  anything  of  modern  Spanish  history,  Mr. 
Jackson  ?  " 

"  Not  modern"  answered  the  cashier,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  has  squandered  his  eyesight  poring  over  antique 
times. 

"  I  fear  I,  too,  am  rather  ignorant  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Normanby ;  "  but  it  seems  that  Don  Carlos  and  his 
followers  were  rebels  against  the  legitimate  throne  of 
Spain,  and  that  my  brother's  wife  had  embraced  with 
all  the  ardor  of  a  Spaniard  the  cause  of  the  Pretender. 
It  was  not  sufficient  for  her  fervid  loyalty  that  her  fam- 
ily should  have  lost  life  and  fortune  in  the  forlorn  hope 
of  overturning  the  Spanish  monarchy ;  night  and  day  — 
I  am  but  giving  life  to  the  meager  details  vouchsafed 
me  —  night  and  day  she  wearied  her  husband  to  throw 
his  wealth  into  the  uneven  scales. 

"  He  loved  his  wife,  he  gloried  in  her  loyalty,  and  his 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       179 

adventurous  spirit  caught  fire.  For  years  after  the  last 
rising  had  failed  the  devoted  couple  suffered  the  exist- 
ence of  the  proscribed  and  hunted,  among  the  rocks  and 
mountains  of  Spain.  Again  and  again  my  brother 
risked  his  life.  'Nay,  he  risked  what  was  dearer  to  him 
than  his  own  life  —  and  lost  it.  In  the  act  of  giving 
birth  to  an  infant  daughter  his  wife  died,  almost  on  the 
open  hill-side. 

"  Frantic  with  grief  my  ill-fated  brother  abandoned 
prudence.  Within  a  month  he  was  captured  by  the 
Government,  tried,  and  condemned  to  imprisonment  for 
twenty-five  years  in  a  fortress. 

"  In  his  case  —  perhaps  because  he  was  an  alien  — 
the  justice  of  the  country  was  not  cruel.  His  compara- 
tively small  deposits  in  the  Spanish  banks  were  not 
seized.  His  effects  after  examination  were  handed  over 
to  some  species  of  local  military  tribunal  for  safe  keep- 
ing against  his  coming  out  of  prison ;  and,  best  of  all,  he 
was  able  to  secure  that  his  little  daughter  should  be 
nursed  with  all  tenderness  in  the  military  settlement  ad- 
joining the  fortress,  and  ultimately  admitted  almost 
daily  to  lighten  his  imprisonment.  For  almost  ten 
years  she  brought  love  and  joy  into  the  prisoner's  weary 
life,  then  "  —  Mr.  Normanby  laid  his  hand  softly  on  his 
daughter's,  and  paused  —  "  then  she,  too,  died." 

Mr.  Normanby  took  off  his  glasses  and  rubbed  them. 
The  cashier,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  shuffled  awkwardly 
in  his  chair,  and  murmured  inarticularly. 

"  And  now  to  tell  you  how  I  became  aware  of  all  this," 
said  Mr.  Normanby  a  little  more  briskly.  "  Even  in 
the  days  of  his  age  and  misfortune  Lawrence  still  kept 
his  power  of  charming  his  fellows.  There  was  a  turn- 
key in  the  prison,  a  simple,  faithful  fellow,  and  he  came 
to  like  the  poor  prisoner,  and  began  to  do  him  little 
kindnesses,  till  at  last  they  became  friends;  and  the 
friendship  did  much  to  alleviate  my  brother's  lot. 
Many  years  passed,  and  as  my  brother's  days  drew  to  a 


180        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

close,  his  thoughts  turned  to  home  again.  But  he  was 
unwilling  to  write  for  many  reasons.  He  was  ashamed 
of  his  long  silence,  and  of  his  imprisonment ;  and  then  he 
did  not  know  if  the  old  home  were  still  in  being,  or 
whether  any  of  his  relations  were  still  alive.  So  he  con- 
sulted with  his  humble  friend,  and  at  last  it  was  decided 
that  at  his  first  interval  of  holiday  the  turnkey  should  go 
to  Ireland,  and  find  out  these  things.  But  my  brother 
cautioned  him  that  he  was  to  say  nothing  of  his  mission, 
but  to  report  all  to  him  when  he  returned." 

"  That  was  the  lawyer  old  Terry  thought  he  spot- 
ted," said  Jackson  to  himself. 

"  And  now  comes  the  romantic  part  of  the  story. 
My  brother  had  not  wasted  all  his  immense  fortune  on 
the  insurgents.  Concealed  in  a  secret  receptacle  in  one 
of  the  cases  held  by  the  military  authorities  was  a  bun- 
dle of  notes  and  bonds  amounting  to  no  less  than  "  — 
Mr.  Normanby  paused,  the  cashier  leaned  forward 
eagerly  — "  ninety  thousand  " — ("  Only  dollars,  I'm 
sure,"  flashed  across  Mr.  Jackson's  mind)  —  "  pounds 
sterling,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  in  an  awed  voice. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Jackson  to  himself. 
"  With  this  remnant  —  for  it  was  only  a  remnant  of 
his  fortune" — ("Hundreds  of  thousands  wasted  on 
those  infernal  yellow  rascals,"  thought  Jackson  in  an- 
guish. "  What  a  bank  account  he  must  have  kept !  ")  — 
"  my  brother  had  hoped  first  to  dower  his  only  child ; 
and  then,  when  that  hope  failed  him,  to  soothe  and  ease 
his  last  years.  It  was  not  to  be.  When  the  turnkey 
came  back  to  the  prison  his  occupation  was  almost  gone. 
The  hand  of  death  was  on  poor  Lawrence.  He  died  a 
few  weeks  later." 

Mr.  Normanby  sat  gently  tapping  the  table  with  one 
hand  —  dreaming. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said,  answering  to  a  soft  move- 
ment of  his  daughter.  "  Well,  Mr.  Jackson,  a  few 
words  ends  the  story.  He  appointed  his  poor  friend 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       181 

executor  in  all  legal  form,  and  confided  to  him  the  whole 
circumstances.  It  was  perhaps  a  rash  thing  to  do,  I 
am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Normanby,  smiling;  "  a  banker  like 
yourself  would  have  been  more  cautious ;  but  his  confi- 
dence was  not  misplaced.  The  honest  fellow  communi- 
cated with  me  at  once.  Some  letters  passed  between  us. 
I  told  him  frankly  of  my  brother's  past,  and  satisfied 
him  that  I  was  sole  representative,  and  he  began  to  take 
steps  to  convey  to  me  the  inheritance.  But  an  obstacle 
intervened.  With  the  customary  rapacity  of  officials 
the  authorities  demanded  a  considerable  sum  before  re- 
leasing my  brother's  effects.  The  sum  remaining  of  the 
money  deposited  in  the  banks  there  was  trifling,  and  the 
poor  turnkey  wrote  to  me  in  despair.  I  will  read  you 
extracts  from  his  letters.  They  are  a  little  quaint,  Mr. 
Jackson,  but  reveal  a  simple,  childlike  character.  My 
belief  in  the  fundamental  goodness  of  human  nature  has 
been  deepened  by  this  humble  turnkey. 

"  I  may  say  that  my  brother's  death  did  not  come 
upon  me  as  a  surprise.  Shortly  before  it  took  place  I 
had  a  warning  from  his  devoted  friend  in  the  following 
touching  terms  — "  Mr.  Normanby  drew  a  letter 
from  the  pile  of  flimsy,  foreign  note-paper  beside  him, 
and  began  to  read  in  a  slightly  tremulous  voice. 

"  '  I  regret  very  much  that  on  the  next  time  I  write 
you  that  I  may  be  herald  of  bad  news.  But  the  case 
so  require  it,  and  the  truth  must  be  said  though  we  may 
be  painful. 

"  '  The  your  relative  health  state  is  very  bad,  being 
the  science  powerless  against  the  infirmity,  and  if  God 
with  His  infinite  power '  —  observe  the  poor  fellow's 
humble  piety,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  —  "  '  does  not  re- 
turn his  health,  I  believe  we  shall  see  very  soon  an  un- 
fortunate end.' 

"  The  premonition  was  but  too  well  founded,  Mr. 
Jackson,  as  the  next  letter  will  show. 

"  '  I  wrote  you,'  it  says,  '  giving  information  of  your 


182       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

relative  health  state.  To-day  I  write  you  again,  and  I 
am  very  sorry  that  I  must  communicate  you  that  Senor 
Ricardo  de  Normanbie  died  the  day  6th  inst.,  victim  of 
human  selfishness.'  Mark  the  honest  indignation ! " 
said  Mr.  Normanby  with  warmth. 

"  '  As  I  have  said  to  you  in  my  last  letter  I  will  to 
execute  sincerely  the  sacred  mission  that  your  relative 
has  commissioned  me,  and  with  the  God  aid  '  —  a  reser- 
vation, Mr.  Jackson,  that  we  should  all  make  —  *  I  will 
execute  the  promise  made  to  him  in  his  period  agony. 

"  '  I  have  had  an  interview  with  a  functionary  of  the 
Military  Tribunal  of  this  city,  who  manifested  me  that 
the  equipage  was  seized  because  the  processed  effects 
and  estates  has  not  money  for  to  pay  the  sum  demanded 
for  the  Tribunal  by  payment  the  costs  and  process  ex- 
penses, but  the  Tribunal  as  soon  as  receive  the  sum  for 
the  pay  total  of  costs,  and  process  expenses  '  —  which  is 
really,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  with  some  indignation,  "  the 
plunder  exacted  by  these  unjust  stewarts  —  *  will  hand 
the  equipage  to  me,  the  person  that  the  late  Senor  Don 
Ricardo  de  Normanbie  has  officially  appointed.  But  on 
the  case  that  within  of  the  term  of  ninety  days  from  the 
date  of  Senor  Don  Ricardo  de  Normanbie's  death  would 
not  been  paid  the  mentioned  sum,  the  Tribunal  will  con- 
sider himself  with  right  for  taking  possession  of  the 
equipage  and  its  contents.' 

"  And  this,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  warmly,  "  is  in  the 
twentieth  century.  Such,  Mr.  Jackson,  are  the  fruits 
of  that  militarism  which  we  in  this  country  have  hith- 
erto so  fortunately  escaped. 

"  But  I  must  not  be  angry.  I  wonder,"  and  he  smiled 
roguishly,  "  I  wonder  what  chance  I  should  have  of  re- 
ceiving my  poor  brother's  effects  if  this  Military  Tribu- 
nal knew  what  they  contained.  I  am  tempted  —  the 
old  Adam  is  hard  to  conquer,  my  dear  young  friend  —  I 
am  tempted  to  communicate  with  this  Tribunal  when  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        183 

money  is  safe  in  my  hands.  But  I  trust  I  shall  find 
strength  to  resist  the  temptation. 

"  Well,  to  continue  our  extract :  '  The  total  amount 
for  to  pay  in  the  Tribunal  according  the  document  of 
the  depositary  judicial  that  I  have  solicited  after  of 
your  relative  death  as  also  the  document  of  the  death, 
which  enclosed  documents  I  ask  you  to  please  return  it 
because  I  can  want  it  for  the  replieving  of  the  equipage. 

*'  *  The  total  amount  are  1000  pesetas  (Spanish 
money),  which  are  £4?0. 

" '  As  soon  as  you  have  sent  the  sum  I  shall  present 
a  writing  to  the  Tribunal  in  name  and  representation  of 
executor  in  order  to  the  Tribunal  deliver  me  all  the 
equipage  making  the  money  deposit  which  the  Military 
Tribunal  demand  by  the  payment  total  the  costs  and 
process  expenses. 

"  *  On  seeing  this  I  hope  you  will  send  the  amount  for 
getting  out  the  seized  equipage  as  well  as  for  the  ex- 
penses of  my  journey  until  your  home.  I  feel  very 
much  I  cannot  to  advance  the  necessary  sum  for  to  re- 
deem equipage.  I  am  poor  and  my  state  very  precari- 
ous, being  my  wages  so  little  that  hardly  I  can  pay  my 
scarce  expenses. 

"  '  The  total  amount  are  £50  that  I  hope  you  send  me 
by  return  because  the  delay  fixed  by  the  Tribunal  finish 
the  90th  day  and  the  performance  of  these  men  are  very 
stern.' 

"  Think  of  this  poor  being  with  his  pittance  of  wages 
cheerfully  handing  over  to  the  rightful  owner  such  a 
vast  sum,  and  requesting  only  ten  pounds  for  his  frugal 
expenses.  Does  it  not  make  one  blush,"  said  Mr.  Nor- 
manby  with  emotion. 

"  And  he  is  scrupulous  to  send  me  the  requisition  of 
the  Tribunal,  and  a  certificate  of  my  brother's  death, 
lest  I  should  doubt  his  fidelity,  or  question  the  sum  de- 
manded. But  I  should  as  soon  think  of  doubting  the 


184        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

honor  of  —  of  my  banker,"  said  Mr.  Normanby  with  a 
little  bow. 

"  See  here's  the  certificate  in  due  form."  He  handed 
a  document  to  the  cashier. 

"  It  seems  quite  official,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  hastily 
glancing  at  the  paper. 

"  Oh,  you  read  Spanish,  then  ?  "  said  Mr.  Normanby. 

"  Er  —  not  exactly,"  stammered  the  cashier. 
"  But " 

"  Do  not  be  ashamed,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  old 
gentleman.  "  Neither  do  I.  Ah,  what  would  I  not  give 
to  be  able  to  read  the  immortal  '  Don  Quixote '  in  the 
original.  And  you  know  the  rap  he  gives  translators, 
eh?  'Twas  ungrateful  —  if  a  man  can  be  proleptically 
ungrateful ;  for  who  has  owed  more  to  translators  than 
the  same  valorous  knight  ? 

"  But  our  thoughtful  agent  has  furnished  us  with  a 
translation  of  the  Tribunal's  demand,  and  of  the  certifi- 
cate, given  not  indeed  by  Doctor  Pedro  Recio  de  Aguero 
of  Tirteafuera,  and  graduate  of  Osuna  —  Alas !  " 
said  Mr.  Normanby  in  sudden  compunction,  "  that  lit- 
erature should  come  nearer  to  us  than  life  —  or  death ! 
My  poor  brother  is  dead,  and  I  jest  about  it.  Forgive 
an  old  man,  to  whom  death  and  life  alike  have  above  be- 
come a  dream,  who  has  too  long  been  living  among 
shadows. 

"  But  my  interminable  story  is  at  an  end. 

"  My  recent  illness  supervened.  Nora  here  took  upon 
her  the  necessary  arrangements,  and  for  my  health's 
sake  forbade  me  particulars.  It  is  enough  that  she  sent 
the  money,  how  obtained  I  know  not,  though  I  suspect 
the  kindly  agency  of  your  Bank,  Mr.  Jackson  " —  and 
Mr.  Normanby  again  bowed  slightly. 

"  The  *  equipage '  of  which  our  faithful  agent  writes 
is  in  his  hands.  Certain  difficulties  over  legal  matters 
have  yet  to  be  surmounted.  The  law's  delays,  Mr. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        185 

Jackson,  of  which  I  think  Spain  has  a  Benjamin's  por- 
tion. 

"  But  it  cannot  be  long  now  till  this  great  inheritance 
—  a  great  responsibility,  for  so  I  look  upon  it  —  comes 
into  my  hands ;  and  with  it  there  comes,  I  think  I  may 
say  providentially,  a  unique  opportunity  of  doing  good 
to  my  old  neighbors  and  friends  in  Portnamuck. 

"  I  will  not,  however,  enter  into  that  now.  I  am  a 
little  fatigued,  Mr.  Jackson,  after  my  long-winded  re- 
cital —  '  talking  age,'  you  know,  my  dear  friend  —  and 
if  you  will  pardon  me  I  will  withdraw.  I  will  send  Nora 
to  entertain  you  —  I  am  afraid  she  will  insist  on  seeing 
me  to  my  room  —  and  I  think  after  the  exemplary  way 
you  have  both  enacted  audience  you  deserve  a  little  chat. 
Good  night,  my  boy."  And  Mr.  Normanby  pressed  the 
cashier's  hand  in  such  a  paternal  manner  that  Mr.  Jack- 
son felt  his  liberty  slipping  rapidly  away  from  him. 
Even  the  recollection  of  the  ninety  thousand  pounds 
hardly  consoled  him. 

But  the  spectacle  of  Nora  anxiously  supporting  her 
father  out  of  the  room  gratified  the  cashier's  secret 
craving  for  sentiment.  He  was  a  trifle  jarred  by  the 
roguish  grimace  with  which  the  young  lady  accompanied 
her  ceremonial  "  Mr.  Jackson  " ;  but  then,  as  he  reflected 
when  left  to  himself,  a  girl  who  was  less  of  a  tomboy 
would  hardly  be  so  fond  of  dogs. 

It  was  still  a  rather  subdued  Miss  Nora  who  re-en- 
tered the  room. 

"  Well,  Jacks,"  she  asked  anxiously,  after  closing  the 
door,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?  " 

"  I  think  it's  like  a  story  out  of  " —  Mr.  Jackson 
fumbled  for  an  illustration  — "  out  of  a  novel,"  he  con- 
cluded lamely.  "  You're  awfully  lucky,  Nora,  and  I 
congratulate  you  heartily." 

He  went  towards  her,  holding  out  his  hand. 

The  warm  contact  awakened  him  to  the  possibilities 


186       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

of  the  situation.  Surely  now  was  the  moment,  at  any 
rate. 

"  I  hope,  Nora,"  he  said  thickly,  still  retaining  her 
hand  in  his.  "I  —  I  hope  this  money  won't  make  you 
forget  all  your  old  friends." 

But  Nora  was  unconscious  of  his  agitation. 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  she  said,  absently  withdrawing 
her  hand,  "  I'm  not  quite  easy  in  my  mind  about  this 
business." 

"  Why  on  earth  not,  Nora,"  cried  Jackson,  forgetting 
sentiment  in  his  surprise. 

"  Sit  down  a  moment  till  I  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Nora, 
going  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  leaning  her  shoulders 
against  the  mantelpiece. 

Mr.  Jackson  noted  with  regret  the  distance  placed 
between  them  by  this  maneuver. 

"  When  I  sent  away  that  fifty  pounds  that  you  were 
such  a  sportsman  about " —  Miss  Nora  turned  pink,  and 
Mr.  Jackson  scarlet  — "  I  thought  this  gaoler  man 
would  have  been  here  with  the  boodle  in  a  fortnight. 
But  he  didn't  turn  up  ;  and  I  wrote  to  the  little  blighter, 
without  saying  a  word  to  Dad,  who  was  pretty  sick  and 
feverish  at  the  time,  and  asked  what  was  up,  and  if  he'd 
got  the  fifty  pounds,  and  whether  it  was  enough.  I  was 
a  silly  ass  to  do  that,"  said  Miss  Nora,  nodding  her  head 
wisely,  "  for  sure  enough  back  comes  a  letter,  saying  it 
would  take  another  twenty-five  pounds.  It  was  a  nice 
letter,  and  very  plausible  and  apologetic,  and  all  that, 
and  went  for  the  Military  Tribunal  like  old  boots ;  but 
somehow  I  didn't  like  it." 

"  But,  good  heavens,  Nora,  if  the  man  is  going  to 
hand  you  over  ninety  thousand  pounds  it  wouldn't  be 
worth  his  while  to  cheat  you  out  of  twenty-five." 

"That's  all  right,  Jacks,"  rejoined  Nora;  "but  he 
hasn't  handed  over  the  ninety  thousand  yet.  And  " — 
she  looked  graver  than  ever  Jackson  had  seen  her  look 
before  — "  I  sold  mother's  jewels  and  sent  it,  and  the  lit- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        187 

tie  microbe  never  answered  my  letter  yet,  and  that's 
days  and  days  ago." 

"  Whew !  "  Mr.  Jackson  looked  grave  also.  "  That 
looks  queer.  Could  there  be  anything  fishy  about  the 
story?  You  remember  I  said  it  sounded  a  bit  novelly. 
But  how  could  this  Spaniard  —  this  gaoler  —  have 
found  out  all  about  your  uncle?  " 

"  He  might  have  picked  it  all  out  of  Dad,"  said  Miss 
Nora.  "  It's  beastly  mean  of  me  to  say  it,  but  Dad's  a 
bit  long  in  the  wind ;  and  he's  ten  times  worse  when  he 
begins  writing.  And  he  let  this  little  Spanish  beggar 
know  there  was  money  in  it;  for  shortly  after  he  heard 
from  him  first  he  asked  him  would  he  need  money  for 
preliminary  expenses. 

"  I  needn't  bring  that  up  against  Dad,  though,"  said 
Nora  with  compunction,  "  for  I  was  a  bigger  juggins 
still.  But  I  want  to  show  you  how  this  Spanish  man 
might  have  got  a  hint.  I  say,  Jacks,"  burst  out  Nora, 
half  weeping,  "  what  can  I  do  ?  It's  not  myself  I'm 
thinking  of,  it's  Dad.  Had  I  better  tell  him  ?  He's  not 
a  bit  concerned  about  the  delay,  mind ;  just  takes  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  But  if  the  whole  thing  is  a  sell  the 
sooner  he  knows  the  better.  And  I  can't  let  it  run  past 
the  meeting  about  the  new  factory.  What  can  I  do, 
Jacks?  You  know  all  about  money  business.  Could 
your  Bank  make  inquiries  out  there?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  was  as  much  distressed  by  Miss  Nora's 
wet  lashes  as  any  young  man  of  his  age  could  be;  but 
at  the  same  time  he  had  a  young  man's  abnormal  dread 
of  ridicule ;  and  there  were  elements  in  the  story  that 
hardly  lent  themselves  to  the  cold  matter-of-fact  of  a 
correspondence  with  Head  Office. 

But  that  would  be  the  manager's  task,  he  reflected 
with  relief. 

"  Better  put  the  whole  thing  before  the  manager, 
Nora,"  he  said.  "  He's  an  awful  long-headed  chap  in 
ways." 


188       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Not  for  worlds,"  cried  Nora  hurriedly.  "  Look 
here,  Jacks,  if  you  tell  him  I'll  never,  never  forgive  you." 
And  Miss  Nora  stamped  her  foot.  "  Can't  you  think 
of  something  to  do  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackson  was  uneasily  aware  of  a  certain  under- 
current of  contempt  in  Miss  Nora's  voice,  and  cudgelled 
his  brains  violently. 

Light  came  to  him  in  a  flash,  as  he  recalled  Terry's 
"  American  Lawyer."  He  related  the  incident  in  a  few 
words. 

"  The  man's  story  is  true  enough.  He  did  come  over, 
and  your  uncle  must  have  sent  him.  When  did  you  get 
the  first  letter  from  Spain  ?  There,  you  see ;  he  was  here 
inquiring  first,  just  as  he  said.  The  man's  honest 
enough,  Nora,  and  it  will  all  turn  out  right  in  the  end." 

"  You're  a  genius,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  in  high 
excitement,  and  administered  one  of  her  old-time  slaps  on 
the  back  with  a  vigor  that  almost  precipitated  Mr.  Jack- 
son into  the  fender.  "  Nothing  else  would  have  brought 
him  over  here.  He  couldn't  have  found  out  about  us 
unless  through  my  uncle.  But  still  "  —  sobering  a  lit- 
tle —  "  why  doesn't  the  little  reptile  write  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  acknowledge  the  first  money  you  sent 
him,"  said  Jackson.  "  A  man  like  that  knows  nothing 
of  business.  Good  gracious,  Nora,  some  of  our  bill- 
holders  wouldn't  acknowledge  fifty  letters.  And  maybe 
he  doesn't  want  to  write  till  he  has  the  '  equipage,'  as 
he  calls  it,  safe  in  his  hands.  He  might  land  here  with 
the  money,  and  never  write  you  he  was  coming." 

"  If  he  lands  here  without  writing  to  me,  I'll  put  the 
dogs  on  him  if  he  should  bring  a  million,"  said  Miss 
Nora ;  "  I  haven't  slept  for  nights  over  him.  Look  here, 
Jacks,  I  must  hear  before  the  meeting." 

"  Wire  him,  Nora,"  cried  the  cashier.  "  When's  the 
meeting?  This  day  week.  Wire  him  to  let  you  have 
a  letter  sure  before  then." 

"  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  with  conviction,  "  you'll  be 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       189 

a  Director  before  you  die.     I'll  call  in  the  Bank  when  I 
hear." 

Mr.  Jackson  was  so  intoxicated  by  his  redemption  of 
his  character  that  he  passed  out  through  a  pitch-dark 
hall,  and  said  good  night  to  Miss  Nora  at  the  front  door 
without  ever  remembering  the  sage  counsels  of  his  man- 
ager and  Terry.  From  which  the  manager,  at  least, 
would  have  drawn  some  conclusions. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  announcement  of  a  definite  date  for  the 
public  meeting  in  connexion  with  the  proposed 
Portnamuck  Woolen  Factory,  Ltd.  raised  ex- 
citement to  fever  height,  and  a  host  of  informal  meetings 
drew  together  in  all  quarters  of  the  town.  One  of  the 
most  representative  took  place  in  the  cobbler's  house  — • 
in  two  sections,  the  workshop  being  delivered  to  men  and 
tobacco,  and  the  kitchen  to  women  and  tea.  The  first 
was  presided  over  by  the  cobbler  as  master  of  the  house, 
and  showed  some  disposition  to  confine  itself  to  the  eco- 
nomic side  of  the  question.  The  cobbler,  perched  -high 
and  comfortably  on  his  working  seat,  was  inclined  to  be- 
stow his  benediction  unreservedly  on  the  scheme. 

"  There'll  be  something  in  it  for  us  all  now,  boys,  take 
my  word  for  it.  Four  or  mebbe  five  hundred  hands  it'll 
give  employ  to,  of  men  and  weemin.  An'  that'll  mean 
a  deal  of  fresh  people  comin'  until  the  town ;  for  there's 
not  near-hand  that  amount  of  workin'  men  an'  weemin 
about,  forby  that  a  lot  av  them  that  is  here  would  run 
away  from  a  bit  of  work  if  they  met  it  in  the  sthreet. 
An'  more  people  means  more  boots,  an'  more  boots  means 
more  mendin',  an'  mendin'  is  money,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
sarned.  I'm  for  the  factory,  heart  and  sowl,  an'  any 
man  with  a  head  on  him'll  be  the  same.  I'm  only  givin' 
ye  an  illustration  from  my  own  case,"  went  on  the  cob- 
bler, adroitly  anticipating  objection;  "  for  every  man  of 
us  will  get  his  share.  There's  the  postman,  now " 

"  Aye,  William,  where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  inquired  the 
public  servant  in  question ;  "  for  barrin'  that  there'll 

be  more  letthers  to  deliver,  d n  all  I  see  in  it  for 

me." 

190 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       191 

"  Won't  the  town  be  as  big  again  in  a  crack,"  said  the 
cobbler,  "  an'  the  post  office  be  raised  to  first  class,  an* 
you  walkin'  about  a  gentleman,  with  two  or  three  men 
undher  ye,  an'  you  hardly  iver  wettin'  your  foot  except 
to  go  round  an'  lift  the  Christmas  boxes?  What's  to 
keep  ye  out  of  bein'  postmasther  whin  ould  Moses  dies ; 
an'  won't  the  j  ob  be  three  times  as  good  by  then  ?  " 

"  You're  right,  Pether,  faith  you're  right,"  said  the 
postman,  contemplating  the  shining  vision  with  his 
mind's  eye.  "  It'll  be  a  big  thing  for  us  all." 

"  An'  there's  Phil  Moran.  Will  he  iver  be  off  the 
road  dhrivin'  commercial  thravelers  up  an'  down  from 
the  station,  an'  ivery  time  a  good  tip.  For  it'll  be  none 
of  your  tape  an'  spools  men'll  be  comin'  here  then ;  but 
big  bugs  of  fellows  sellin'  stuff  by  the  half-ton,  an'  them 
with  fifteen  shillin's  an'  a  pound  a  day  for  expenses. 
An'  there'll  be  buyers,  too,  comin'  to  the  facthory. 
There's  two  of  yez  will  do  well  out  of  it,  an'  I  could  go 
round  ivery  man  in  the  room  wi'  the  same  story.  Is 
there  a  man  here  won't  get  his  share  of  the  plundher? 
Reach  me  that  boot  out  of  the  corner,  Dan,"  said  the 
cobbler,  "  for  I  can  niver  half  talk  unless  my  hands  is 
goin'.» 

"  Ye're  not  makin'  a  bad  offer  at  it  as  it  is,  William," 
remarked  a  small  man,  who,  whether  because  he  dissented 
from  the  murmured  chorus  of  approval  that  followed  the 
cobbler's  remarks,  or  because  he  was  sitting  on  the  bench 
of  tools,  had  been  shuffling  uneasily  for  some  time. 
"  But  you're  givin'  the  whole  show  away  when  ye  talk 
about  people  comin'  in  to  do  the  work.  That's  what  will 
be  the  ruin  of  us  all.  Four  men'll  come  in  where  there'll 
not  be  one  job,  an'  them  that  is  makin'  an  honest  livin' 
at  the  present  time'll  be  thrown  out  on  the  sthreets.  I 
niver  seen  it  different.  If  a  new-comer  arrives  in  the 
town  ivery  man  an'  woman  in  the  place  is  thrippin'  over 
themselves  to  give  him  a  job,  an'  the  ould  residenters 
may  starve  for  all  they  care.  Look  at  myself,  that  has 


192       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

supplied  boats  to  the  visitors  to  this  shore,  man  an'  boy, 
for  thirty  years  —  a  mean,  hungry  pack  most  of  them  is 
too  —  an'  whin  a  pushin'  impident  fellow  comes  up  from 
Bangor  last  season  wi'  two  or  three  varnished  cockle- 
shells the  divil  a  thing  there  was  for  me  to  do  but  wear 
the  seat  of  me  breeches  sittin'  on  the  rocks  watchin'  peo- 
ple go  out  in  thim.  Blast  ye  for  an  untidy  crather  !  " 
ejaculated  the  little  man,  leaping  up  hastily  from  the 
bench,  "  could  ye  not  keep  your  tools  tidy.  Oh  Lord," 
he  groaned,  rubbing  himself  in  anguish,  "  the  wee 
crooked  awl  is  in  to  me  hip  bone  !  " 

"  I  was  wondherin'  where  that  awl  was,"  said  the  cob- 
bler coolly,  when  the  laugh  at  the  little  man's  misfortune 
had  died  down.  "  But  I  might  have  knowed  where  it 
was.  It's  a  case  of  birds  of  a  feather  wi'  the  pair  of 
ye;  for  ye're  as  crooked  as  itself.  Listen  to  me  now, 


*'  Do  ye  hear  the  good  man  raisin'  his  voice  in  the 
parlor,  Mrs.  Rankin,"  said  a  fat  elderly  woman  to  the 
cobbler's  wife,  redepositing  her  cup  on  the  saucer  from 
which  she  had  just  been  drinking.  "  I  doubt  he's  into 
somebody's  wool.  He's  a  very  short  man  when  he's 
crossed.  Ye  have  your  own  throuble  keepin'  him  in 
ordher,  I'm  sure." 

"  Aye,  'deed  he's  fractious  enough  at  times,"  rejoined 
the  cobbler's  wife.  "Any  man  with  a  sittin'  job  is  al- 
ways a  bit  carnaptious.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  it's  very 
easy  for  the  like  of  Michael  Brannegan  to  be  doin'  the 
big  pot,  an'  puttin'  his  thousand  pound  intil  a  facthory 
whin  he  has  nothin'  to  do  but  set  his  big  hinder-end  — 
savin'  your  presence  —  on  the  top  of  a  barrel  while  the 
whole  menkind  of  the  town  runs  to  him  and  daily  pourin' 
the  money  intil  his  pockets  that  would  be  betther  spent 
on  their  wives  an'  childher,  an'  fillin'  their  insides  with 
his  rotten  muck." 

"  Aye,  'deed  we  all  sympathize  with  you,  Mrs.  Ran- 
kin," said  a  little  thin-faced  woman  near  the  door,  in  a 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        193 

voice  of  slightly  subacid  pity.  "  William  must  be  a 
sore  trial  to  you  at  times." 

"  Keep  your  sympathy  for  them  that  needs  it,  if  you 
please,  Mrs.  Rafferty,"  responded  the  cobbler's  wife, 
tossing  her  head  indignantly.  "  Ye'll  maybe  find  some 
of  them  neardher  home.  Thank  God,  when  my  man 
does  take  a  dhrink  or  two  now  an'  then  more  than  is  good 
for  him,  he  comes  home  to  his  own  house,  anyway.  Let 
her  take  that,"  said  the  cobbler's  wife  under  her  breath, 
with  great  satisfaction,  to  her  crony,  Mrs.  Molloy,  who 
was  sitting  beside  her. 

"  It's  a  nice  thing,"  said  the  fat  woman,  hastily  push- 
ing in,  while  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  devising  a  sufficiently 
bitter  rejoinder,  "  to  see  ould  Finnegan  the  dhraper  set- 
tin'  himself  up  as  a  directhor  of  a  wool  facthory  on  the 
strength  of  selling  maybe  half  a  dozen  pair  of  inside 
dhrawers  in  the  fortnight,  an'  not  as  much  wool  in  the 
lot  as  would  stuff  a  pin-cushion.  The  last  pair  I  bought 
in  the  shop  my  man  put  his  knees  through,  sittin'  down 
on  the  creepie-stool  to  warm  his  shins  at  the  fire." 

"  Now  if  talkin's  of  any  use  he'll  earn  his  pay,"  said 
Mrs.  Molloy,  pressing  her  lips  together,  and  nodding  her 
head  with  an  air  of  great  wisdom. 

"  Oh,  'deed  will  he,"  interposed  Mrs.  Rafferty,  de- 
flected from  the  cobbler's  wife  to  this  new  prey.  "  An 
empty  ould  bladdher  of  wind,  that's  what  he  is.  It 
bates  all  to  see  the  airs  of  him  an'  that  ould  skin  of  a 
wife  of  his.  You'd  think  to  see  the  style  of  them  on  a 
Sunday  it  was  my  Lord  an'  Lady  Leftenant  goin'  up  the 
sthreet.  It's  well  seen  clothes  comes  cheap  to  the  pair 
of  them. 

"  I  wondher  does  he  mind  startin'  round  in  the  Gut- 
tery  Lane  in  a  lock-up  shop  that  wee  that  he  couldn't 
use  his  yard-stick  in  it,  with  wan  slip  of  a  fourteen-year- 
old  child  for  an  apprentice  at  eighteenpence  a  week,  an' 
the  pair  of  them  sleepin'  among  the  cloth  in  the  back 
office  about  half  as  wee  again  as  the  shop,  an'  makin' 


194       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

their  breakfast  in  the  mornin'  off  the  wan  egg  cut  in 
two." 

"  Aye,  I  mind  it  well,"  broke  in  the  fat  woman.  "  He 
wasn't  so  upsettin'  in  them  days.  It's  changed  times 
with  him  now  with  his  Emporium,  an'  his  six  hands,  an' 
his  Departments.  His  Departments  —  aw  God  help 
the  crather." 

"  'Deed  you  may  well  laugh,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty  approvingly.  "  Capers  an'  nonsense,  I  call  it. 
The  boot  department  at  the  door,  an'  up  the  counther  is 
the  ribbon  department,  an'  back  to  the  door  again  is  the 
hardware,  an'  a  young  ganch  of  a  counthry  boy  skippin' 
up  an'  down  like  a  grasshopper  trying  to  be  in  the  whole 
three  places  at  the  one  time ;  with  the  ould  fellow  himself 
lookin'  on,  an'  wouldn't  soil  his  finger  to  sell  ye  a  pair  of 
laces." 

"  Well,  now,  ye  can't  say  that  of  wee  Sharpe. 
There's  no  didoes  with  him,  anyway,"  said  the  cobbler's 
wife,  looking  up  from  the  tea-pot  she  was  replenishing. 
"  He's  always  just  plain  Jane,  an'  as  obligin'  with  a 
poor  body  as  with  My  Lady." 

"  Aye,  he's  the  right  wee  man,  is  Sharpe,"  said  her 
friend  Mrs.  Molloy  approvingly.  "  If  it  was  only  a 
ha'port  of  tacks  he'd  ransack  the  whole  shop  himself 
but  he'd  get  it  for  ye.  If  he  has  enough  to  say  in  the 
facthory  it'll  be  no  miss." 

"  Oh,  he's  well  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Rafferty  grudg- 
ingly, "  but  what  about  the  rest  of  them?  Could  there 
be  luck  about  a  place  that  that  miserable  bein'  McCar- 
rison  had  anything  to  do  with?  Wouldn't  the  face  of 
him  stop  the  works  ivery  time  he  put  his  head  in  of  the 
facthory  door?  He  may  be  in  the  seed  business,  but  if 
iver  the  Almighty  intended  a  man  to  be  a  undhertaker 
it  was  himself.  A  whingein',  complainin'  crather,  that 
worried  his  poor  wife  intil  her  grave.  Not  but  she  was 
a  do-less  bein'  enough ;  but  sure  the  woman  couldn't  help 
it ;  it  was  the  way  she  was  born." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       195 

"  Ah,  blethers,  woman,"  said  the  cobbler's  wife  con- 
temptuously. "  What  say  will  McCarrison  or  any  of 
them  have  in  it  ?  Doesn't  the  whole  town  know  that  the 
big  end  of  the  money  will  come  out  of  Mr.  Normanby's 
pocket,  an'  won't  he  do  what  he  likes  ?  " 

"  Is  it  that  dhreamin'  ould  lunatic  manage  a  f  ac- 
thory?"  began  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"  Just  keep  your  tongue  off  our  clergy,  if  you  please, 
mem,"  burst  in  the  cobbler's  wife  in  high  wrath.  "  The 
Reverend  Mr.  Normanby  " —  she  rolled  his  title  unctu- 
ously on  her  tongue  — "  is  as  good  as  any  of  your  sort, 
an'  betther,  an'  has  done  more  good  to  the  town  since  1 
come  intil  it  than  all  the  priests  an'  bishops,  an'  cardi- 
nals   " 

"  An'  keep  your  bad  tongue  off  my  clergy,  Mrs.  Ran- 
kin" —  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  sprang  to  her  feet  in  quiver- 
ing indignation  — "  for  if  wan  of  them  should  only  lift 
his  finger  it  would  tumble  your  ould  f acthory  in  the  gut- 
ter. Come  on  home,  Mary  " —  over  her  shoulder  to  the 
fat  woman,  as  she  made  for  the  door  — "  for  not  wan 
minit  longer  will  I  sit  in  that  woman's  house  to  be  in- 
sulted in  my  religion.  Good  night  to  ye,  mem,"  she 
panted,  holding  on  valiantly  to  the  latch  of  the  kitchen 
door  as  her  crony's  huge  bulk  swept  past  her,  "  an'  good 
luck  to  ye,  an'  your  facthory,  an'  your  Reverend  — 
ould  idiot"  she  spat  out  suddenly,  and  vanished  with  a 
bang  of  the  door  that  caused  a  plate  to  jump  off  the 
dresser. 

"  Let  her  put  that  in  her  pipe  an'  smoke  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Rafferty,  as  she  hurried  up  the  street,  still  possessed 
with  fury,  "  the  ould  bigot.  There  was  peace  an'  quiet- 
ness in  the  town  till  the  like  of  her  come  intil  it.  It 
would  be  a  long  time  till  ye  heard  a  Portnamuck  body 
startin'  party  talk.  But  what  would  ye  expect  from  a 
new-comer  like  her." 

"  An'  that's  the  truth,"  wheezed  the  fat  woman  from 
the  rear.  "  I  knowed  there'd  be  no  luck  wi'  William 


196       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Rankin  marryin'  out  of  the  town.  It  takes  me  to  the 
fair  to  hear  an  impident  upstart  like  her,  that  hasn't 
been  in  the  place  above  twenty  years,  layin'  down  the 
law  to  ould  residenters  that  has  lived  here,  an'  their 
fathers  before  them  since  —  since  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment," said  the  fat  woman,  recovering  her  breath  a  lit- 
tle, as  they  paused  at  Mrs.  Rafferty's  door.  "  But  do 
ye  think  this  f acthory  business  will  come  to  anythin'  ?  " 

"  It  might,"  said  Mrs.  Rafferty,  her  hand  on  the 
latch,  "  if  ould  Normanby's  fool  enough  to  put  the 
money  intil  it.  But  mark  my  words,  Mary,  there'll  not 
much  go  intil  it  but  his  own.  The  people  of  Portnamuck 
is  not  goin'  out  to  catch  butterflies.  An'  as  for  that 
woman  down  the  sthreet  " —  she  ground  out  in  a  sudden 
recollection  of  her  late  skirmish  — "  if  I  hear  of  her  or 
her  dhrunken  useless  man  puttin'  six  pence  intil  the  same 
facthory,  I'll  denounce  it  in  ivery  house  in  the  town  if  it 
was  only  for  spite."  And  Mrs.  Rafferty  flounced  in, 
dealing  hardly  more  tenderly  with  her  own  door  than 
with  the  cobbler's. 

Meanwhile  the  party  in  the  cobbler's  workroom  was 
breaking  up,  leaving  the  members  with  the  comfortable 
feeling  that  no  definite  conclusion  had  been  arrived  at, 
and  that  the  subject  still  afforded  great  possibilities  of 
discussion. 

"  What  I  say  is,"  declared  the  boat  owner  in  the  hope 
of  a  prolongation  of  the  debate,  "  unless  we  could  get  the 
Government  to  do  somethin' " 

"  Ach,  will  ye  hould  your  tongue  about  the  Govern- 
ment," said  the  cobbler  in  disgust.  "  Haven't  we  far 
betther  than  any  Government?  Isn't  Misther  Nor- 
manby  goin'  to  back  it,  that  has  come  intil  as  much 
money  as  the  Government  iver  had?  An'  if  he's  willin* 
to  put  up  the  money,  are  we  goin'  to  be  fools  enough  to 
prevent  him?  Sure  it  can't  do  the  town  any  harm. 
Win  or  lose  we'll  be  no  worse  off  than  we  were." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       1.97 

"  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of  that  either,"  said  the  boat- 
man to  Phil  Moran,  as  they  went  off  together. 

"  There'll  be  more  people  goin'  up  an'  down  between 
this  an'  the  station,  anyway,"  returned  Phil. 

"  An'  who'll  be  dhrivin'  them  ?  "  asked  the  boatman. 
"  It'll  not  be  a  crack  till  there'll  be  some  Belfast  fellows 
up  with  wan  of  them  motives,  an'  before  three  months 
there'll  not  be  a  jauntin'-car  on  the  road." 

"  Ah,  the  divil  a  fear,"  said  Phil  stoutly.  "  There'll 
be  as  many  with  an  eye  in  their  head  for  a  horse  as'll 
keep  me  out  of  the  poor-house.  Good  night,  Barney." 

"  I  wish  to  God,"  grumbled  the  boatman  to  himself 
as  he  went  along,  "  that  people  could  just  let  things  go 
on  as  they  always  did.  I  don't  know  what's  comin'  over 
the  world  at  all." 

"  Come  in  out  of  the  cowld,  William,"  called  the  cob- 
bler's wife,  whose  guests  had  also  departed ;  "  what  are 
ye  standin'  there  for?  " 

"  I  was  just  watchin'  ould  Barney  preachin'  to  Phil 
Moran,"  answered  the  cobbler,  turning  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Ach,  come  in  out  of  that,"  said  his  wife,  "  till  I  tell 
you  how  I  put  down  Biddy  Rafferty." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

EARLY  on  the  evening  of  the  fateful  meeting 
the  promoters  assembled  in  Michael's  bar-par- 
lor. As  was  to  be  expected  from  men  shortly 
about  to  undergo  the  ordeal  of  appearance  on  a  public 
platform  they  all  looked  very  nervous ;  and  Terry's  at- 
tendance on  the  room  was  quite  unusually  brisk.  But 
the  customary  flow  of  conversation  did  not  follow  his 
ministrations.  Mr.  Finnegan's  tongue  was  indeed  loos- 
ened, but  he  confined  himself  to  a  rapid  monologue  under 
his  breath,  accompanied  by  occasional  furtive  glances 
at  a  roll  of  paper  only  half  concealed  in  his  sleeve,  from 
which  phenomena  most  of  the  observers  drew  dismal 
auguries  as  to  the  progress  of  business  later  on.  Only 
a  more  than  commonly  restless  roving  of  his  keen  little 
eyes  distinguished  the  demeanor  of  Mr.  Sharpe  from 
the  ordinary ;  but  the  melancholy  of  the  seedsman  was 
even  for  him  abnormal,  and  amounted  to  a  kind  of 
speechless  agony.  The  blacksmith  himself,  perhaps  op- 
pressed by  the  unwonted  cleanness  of  his  face,  was  al- 
most silent ;  and  an  Olympian  gravity  distinguished  Mi- 
chael's visits  to  the  room. 

About  two  hours  before  the  time  appointed  for  the 
meeting  a  steady  stream  of  country  vehicles  set  in  to- 
wards Michael's  stabling-yard.  The  tension  inside  per- 
ceptibly relaxed;  and  when  later  on  a  noticeable  move- 
ment of  foot-passengers  in  the  direction  of  the  Town 
Hall  became  apparent,  only  the  seedsman  maintained  his 
gloom. 

In  the  town  itself  there  was  a  strong  undercurrent  of 
excitement.  The  more  responsible  citizens,  realizing 

198 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        199 

that  there  was  a  distinct  prospect  of  benefit  to  the  dis- 
trict, had  hastened  to  apply  for  tickets;  and  half  an 
hour  before  the  hall  was  to  be  thrown  open  to  the  gen- 
eral public  the  front  portion  of  it  was  filled  by  a  solid 
body  of  householders,  every  man  of  them  eager  for  the 
public  good,  and  steadfastly  determined  not  to  involve 
himself  in  any  personal  responsibility. 

The  proletariat,  on  the  other  hand,  were  more  inclined 
to  look  on  the  humorous  possibilities  of  the  meeting. 
Life  in  the  town  of  Portnamuck  was  undeniably  dull; 
and  such  an  opportunity  of  enlivening  it  decidedly  not 
to  be  missed.  The  probability  of  Mr.  Finnegan's  ap- 
pearance in  the  chair  was  freely  canvassed,  and  various 
steps  towards  diversifying  it  taken.  The  younger  fry 
provided  themselves  with  trumpets  and  whistles,  and 
other  means  of  producing  a  cheerful  noise.  A  plentiful 
supply  of  light  but  galling  missiles,  such  as  haricot 
beans  and  small  shot,  lurked  in  the  pockets  of  the 
seniors;  and  Paddy  Rogan,  who  enjoyed  a  considerable 
reputation  in  his  own  circles  as  a  practical  joker,  decoy- 
ing the  widow  Moran  from  her  kitchen  by  a  report  that 
her  cat  had  fallen  into  the  adjoining  well,  had  provided 
himself  and  his  satellites  with  heavy  artillery  in  the 
shape  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  stone  of  more  than  half- 
boiled  potatoes. 

"  Ach,  sure,"  said  Paddy,  excusing  his  deed  to  one  or 
two  of  the  more  conscientious,  "  aren't  all  the  childher 
comin*  to  the  meetin',  an'  won't  they  have  more  fun  out 
of  the  perdas  there  than  if  they  were  in  their  bellies  ?  " 

Michael,  warned  by  the  cheering  that  saluted  each 
fresh  entrance  of  ticket-holders  into  the  Town  Hall,  sent 
stringent  orders  to  the  door-keepers  that  none  of  the 
riffraff,  as  he  unkindly  put  it,  were  to  be  admitted.  But 
he  was  out-generalled ;  for  when  the  back  door  of  the  hall 
was  opened  to  admit  the  prospective  Directors  to  the 
committee-room  in  the  rear  of  the  platform,  one  of  the 
ticketless  adroitly  wedged  the  door  with  a  block  of  wood 


200       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

and  in  an  instant  the  back  hall  and  staircase  were 
choked  with  riff-raff  triumphans.  Not  all  the  eloquence 
of  all  the  Directors  availed  to  persuade  them  to  with- 
draw; and  finally,  lest  the  platform  should  be  stormed 
from  the  rear,  it  was  found  necessary  to  throw  open  the 
back  seats  in  the  hall  of  meeting  to  all  comers. 

"  There'll  be  fun  the  night,  Mr.  Finnegan,"  said  the 
blacksmith.  "  The  boys  have  got  their  blood  up  now. 
It  would  ha'  been  betther  to  ha'  let  them  in  to  the  big 
hall  at  the  start.  But  ye  daren't  say  that  to  Michael." 

"  Mr.  Brannegan,"  said  the  draper,  "  is  a  very  able 
man  in  his  own  way,  but  —  if  I  may  say  so  —  obstinate, 
Denis  —  yes,  obstinate.  I  haven't  expressed  the  opin- 
ion publicly,  but  strictly  between  ourselves  I  hope  he  will 
be  better  guided  than  to  aim  at  the  chair  to-night.  An 
able  man  —  still,  if  I  might  venture  to  put  it  so  strongly, 
a  trifle,  just  a  trifle,  illiterate.  Now  somebody  with  a 
little  experience  —  I  would  not  have  the  assurance  to 
put  myself  forward  unduly,  or  in  any  way  to 
usurp " 

"  Mr.  Finnegan,"  said  the  blacksmith  with  convic- 
tion, "  you're  the  man  for  the  job,  and  nobody  else. 
What " 

"  I  cherished,  I  may  remark,  a  perhaps  not  unjustifi- 
able feeling  that  my  little  knowledge  of  public  affairs, 
and  what  some  people  have  been  good  enough  to  call  my 
capacity  for  eloquence,  would  be  of  service  to  the  great 
undertaking  we  are  about  to  launch  on  the  sea  of  pros- 
perity to-night,"  said  Mr.  Finnegan  with  a  slight  down- 
ward glance  at  his  manuscript.  "  But  Mr.  Branne- 
gan  " 

"  Here,  I'll  tell  you  what  you'll  do,"  said  the  black- 
smith eagerly.  "  There's  two  or  three  men  —  big  farm- 
ers that  we  want  to  keep  in  with  —  on  the  platform  al- 
ready. Away  out  an'  plant  yourself  in  the  chair,  and 
the  minit  the  curtain  rises  break  into  a  speech,  an'  the 
divil  a  man  in  Portnamuck  can  stop  you  —  an'  that's 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       201 

the  God's  truth,"  concluded  the  blacksmith  to  him- 
self. 

Mr.  Finnegan  glanced  round.  Big  Michael  was  en- 
gaged in  reassuring  the  somewhat  intimidated  chartered 
accountant  with  the  help  of  a  bottle.  The  draper  put 
his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  tip-toed  from  the  room. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  make  a  start,  Michael,"  said  the 
blacksmith.  "  The  hall'll  be  down  if  we  don't.  Are  ye 
waitin'  for  Mr.  Normanby?  " 

"  No,  he's  not  to  be  here  for  a  while  yet,"  said  Mi- 
chael. "  I'm  waitin'  for  young  de  Bullevant.  Now, 
that'll  do,  Denis."  Michael  put  up  a  hand.  "  I  know 
the  public.  A  big  bug  is  a  big  bug,  even  if  they  hate 
him  like  poison." 

And  indeed  though  a  section  of  the  present  generation 
of  Portnamuckites  expended  a  good  deal  of  their  pocket- 
money  from  time  to  time  on  tar  for  the  statue  of  their 
landlord  that  their  grateful  fathers  had  erected,  it  was 
undeniable  that  the  presence  of  himself  or  his  son  was 
accorded  more  deference  than  that  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished champion  of  tenants'  privileges  in  the 
town. 

"  There's  Mr.  Percy  at  the  door,"  said  the  black- 
smith ;  "  but  God  knows  how  the  wee  crather'll  iver  get 
up  the  steps.  For  ye  couldn't  pull  the  people  out  of  the 
passage  with  a  corkscrew.  By  the  hokey,  here  he 
comes ! " 

There  was  a  cheer,  and  a  confused  shouting :  "  Up 
with  him  —  have  ye  got  him?  —  houl'  tight,  Mr.  Percy." 

The  body  of  Mr.  Percy,  violently  contorted,  appeared 
on  the  top  of  a  small  forest  of  hands. 

"  Now,  boys,  pass  him  along !  "  And  next  moment  he 
landed  at  the  committee-room  door,  and  was  hurried  on 
to  the  platform  by  the  blacksmith  before  he  had  time  to 
collect  his  dignity. 

"  Come  on  now,  men,"  said  Michael,  "  we'll  make  a 
start." 


202       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF,  THE  BANK 

"  But,  Michael,"  whispered  the  blacksmith  from  the 
door  opening  on  the  platform,  "  what  about  poor  ould 
Mr.  Normanby?  For  if  they  hoist  him  up  that  way  the 
divil  a  cent  iver  we'll  get  out  of  him,  barrin'  he  has  left 
it  to  us  in  his  will." 

"  Leave  that  too,  now,"  said  Michael  curtly.  "  He'll 
be  here.  The  covered  car  is  to  call  at  the  barracks,  an' 
the  sergeant'll  do  the  rest.  Come  on  now,  sir,  an'  have 
your  figures  ready."  He  grasped  the  accountant  by  the 
arm  and  strode  on  to  the  creaking  platform. 

Mr.  Finnegan  heard  the  boding  sound,  and  turned  in 
trembling  deprecation.  But  Michael  wasted  no  time  in 
parley.  "  Get  out  of  it,"  was  all  he  said.  The  tone  it- 
self was  enough.  Mr  Finnegan  got  out  of  it. 

"  Up  with  that  curtain  now,"  said  Michael.  "  Wait ; 
fetch  me  a  chair  that'll  hold  a  man." 

But  he  was  too  late.     The  curtain  rose. 

Had  it  risen  on  Michael  seated  in  awful  state,  flanked 
by  Mr.  Percy  and  the  unfamiliar  and  city-like  figure  of 
the  chartered  accountant,  it  is  probable  that  order  would 
have  reigned  from  the  start.  But  Michael's  standing 
posture  and  furious  glances  at  the  attendant  betrayed 
the  contretemps,  and  weakened  his  authority.  A  sub- 
dued titter  ran  through  the  hall,  that  even  Michael's  dig- 
nity had  some  difficulty  in  supporting  with  unconcern. 
His  repeated  beckonings  to  the  attendant  confused  the 
man,  and  the  delay  in  bringing  the  chair  added  triple 
strength  to  the  cheer  that  greeted  its  arrival.  Then, 
owing  to  its  greater  size,  there  was  some  difficulty  in  get- 
ting the  chair  placed.  The  operation  was  followed 
eagerly  from  the  hall. 

"  They'd  betther  watch  themselves  where  they  plant 
that  chair,"  declared  the  local  carpenter  to  a  knot  of  his 
friends.  "  There's  a  rotten  plank  in  the  middle  of  the 
platform,  and  if  the  hind-legs  goes  on  it,  the  first  place 
Michael'll  stop'll  be  on  the  foundations." 

The  news  flew  through  the  room  like  wild-fire.     Mi- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       203 

chael's  ponderous  enthronement  of  himself  was  watched 
with  strained  attention,  and  when  the  chair  stood  firm, 
the  short  pause  of  disappointment  was  followed  by  sal- 
vos of  ringing  cheers,  that  continued  long  after  Michael 
had  raised  his  hand  for  silence.  It  was  quite  evident 
that  the  chairman's  office  was  going  to  be  a  troublesome 
one. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  Michael,  after  order 
had  settled  down,  "  we  have  met  here  to-night  to  start  a 
company  for  woolen  manufacture." 

"  Make  it  poteen,  Michael,"  cried  a  voice,  "  an'  as  far 
as  half  a  crown  goes,  I'm  with  you." 

"  The  sheep  of  this  country,"  went  on  Michael,  un- 
heeding the  interruption  or  the  ripple  of  laughter  that 
followed  it,  "  have  always  been  first  class." 

"  Boys,"  came  a  meditative  voice  from  the  back  of  the 
hall,  "  if  men  only  grew  wool,  what  a  fleece  Michael 
could  carry." 

A  universal  roar  followed  this  sally,  and  was  in  no 
way  diminished  by  the  evident  fury  of  the  chairman. 
Michael  stood  up  more  briskly  than  might  have  been 
expected,  and  fixed  the  back  portion  of  the  audience  with 
the  glare  that  had  so  often  carried  dismay  round  his 
bar-parlor. 

"  If  I  go  down,"  he  said  slowly,  "  to  some  of  that 
scum  at  the  back " 

There  were  no  three  men  in  the  unreserved  seats  but 
would  have  cowered  before  Michael's  glance  in  his  own 
bar.  His  prowess  as  a  "  chucker-out  "  extended  even  to 
Belfast.  But  he  was  to  learn  something  of  the  psychol- 
ogy of  a  crowd. 

Instantly  an  angry  clamor  burst  out. 

"  Come  down  here  if  you  dare.  Try  it  on,  ye  big 
bully  ye.  Who  are  you  callin'  '  scum,'  ye  dirty  ould 
lump  ye?  "  One  after  another  joined  in,  till  the  result 
swelled  into  a  fierce  roar,  evidently  abusive,  but  collect- 
ively unintelligible. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

In  vain  Michael  glared  threatening  and  vengeance  till 
the  eyeballs  nearly  started  out  of  his  perspiring  face ;  in 
vain  he  shook  his  fist  and  bellowed  objurgations.  The 
whole  platform  trembled  at  his  furious  stamping;  but 
the  crowd  at  the  back  of  the  hall  was  unimpressed.  The 
younger  fry  gradually  found  courage ;  and  the  clangor 
of  their  musical  instruments  swelled  the  uproar.  Then 
a  few  pattering  shots  fell  among  the  occupants  of  the 
platform.  The  example  was  speedily  followed.  In  a 
moment  the  platform  was  being  scourged  by  volleys  of 
dried  peas  and  beans,  and  small  shot,  before  which  the 
occupants  melted  like  snow.  For  a  minute  or  two  Mi- 
chael refused  to  be  intimidated,  and  withstood  the  storm 
manfully.  But  all  the  fire  gradually  concentrated  on 
him,  and  he  was  too  good  a  target  to  be  missed.  With  a 
final  roar  of  fury  he,  too,  disappeared,  amid  a  wild  out- 
burst of  triumph  from  the  mob. 

It  needed  but  a  leader,  and  the  platform  was  stormed. 
But  none  was  forthcoming.  The  insubordinate  section 
of  the  audience  was  contented  with  vocal  and  instrumen- 
tal celebration  of  its  victory,  and  even  ceased  anything 
but  desultory  and  random  firing.  The  respectable  por- 
tion sat  up  from  the  cowering  posture  they  had  assumed, 
and  exchanged  covert  glances  of  indignation  and  dis- 
may. But  as  Rochefoucauld  has  said,  there  is  some- 
thing not  wholly  displeasing  to  us  in  the  misfortunes  of 
our  friends,  and  an  undercurrent  of  amusement  at  the 
rout  of  Michael  and  his  satellites  soon  began  to  circulate 
even  in  the  front  of  the  hall.  The  unspoken  sympathy 
was  conveyed  by  sundry  laughing  glances  to  the  back, 
and  gradually  assuaged  the  bitterness  of  the  proletariat. 
Little  by  little  the  noise  died  down,  the  dropping  fusil- 
lade ceased,  and  presently  there  was  nothing  to  be  heard 
but  an  excited  buzz  of  talk  and  an  occasional  burst  of 
laughter.  .Soon  even  that  was  intimidated  into  silence 
by  the  impassive  aspect  of  the  lowered  curtain,  and  the 
audience  settled  into  a  stillness  of  expectation,  not  un- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        205 

mingled  with  fear  lest  Michael  should  be  taking  his  re- 
venge by  abandoning  the  meeting  altogether. 

And  indeed  Michael,  left  to  himself,  would  unquestion- 
ably have  done  so.  His  fury  when  he  reached  the  com- 
mittee-room was  speechless,  but  so  intimidating  that 
when  he  tore  down  his  coat  and  hat  and  made  for  the 
door,  not  a  man  dared  do  more  than  look  his  dismay. 
The  draper,  in  anguish  to  see  a  chance  of  public  speak- 
ing slipping  from  him,  made  a  hasty  appeal  to  Mr. 
Percy ;  but  the  disparity  in  bulk  was  too  great  even  for 
the  de  Bullevant  blood,  and  after  an  appraising  glance 
at  Michael's  disappearing  back  Mr.  Percy  shook  his 
head. 

Not  even  the  momentum  of  combined  weight  and  rage 
was,  however,  capable  of  forcing  Michael  down  the  back 
stairs,  already  still  more  congested  by  news  of  the  go- 
ings-on in  the  hall  proper.  For  a  moment  he  paused 
irresolutely,  and  in  that  moment  the  blacksmith  had 
caught  an  inspiration  from  Mr.  Finnegan's  appeal  to 
Mr.  Percy.  He  rushed  out  and  seized  Michael's  coat- 
tails  as  the  landlord  was  about  to  precipitate  himself  on 
the  defiant  riff-raff. 

"  Michael,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  I  have  it." 

"  Lemme  go,"  grunted  Michael  savagely,  pulling  away 
from  him.  The  denizens  of  the  top  steps  vainly  tried  to 
clear  a  lane  for  the  impending  avalanche.  The  crowd  at 
the  door  below  pushed  forward  to  see  what  was  happen- 
ing, and  a  wail  of  terror  arose  from  the  unfortunates  on 
the  middle  steps  thus  crushed  between  the  upper  and 
the  nether  millstones :  "  Oh,  Misther  Brannegan,  dear, 
wait  till  we  get  out.  For  God's  sake,  Misther  Branne- 
gan, hould  on ! " 

The  landlord's  fury  relaxed  somewhat  at  this  evidence 
that  all  predominance  had  not  departed  from  him.  He 
turned  to  the  blacksmith. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  he  grunted.  "  I'll  not  go 
back,  if  that's  what  you're  after." 


206       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Listen,  Michael,"  said  the  blacksmith  persuasively, 
drawing  him  towards  the  door  of  the  committee-room. 
He  whispered  in  the  landlord's  ear. 

Michael  listened,  at  first  unwillingly,  then  with  atten- 
tion. His  features  slowly  relaxed,  and  creased  into  a 
slow  smile.  He  smote  one  of  his  vast  thighs  with  a  slap 
that  resounded  above  all  the  clamor  of  the  staircase. 

"  By  the  Lord,  we'll  do  it.  It'll  keep  them  goin'  till 
Mr.  Normanby  comes,  anyway.  But  if  there's  a  word 
then " 

"  The  divil  a  cheep'll  be  in  them  by  that  time,  you'll 
see,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  Sure  he'd  put  down  the 
dangerous  ward  of  a  lunatic  asylum.  He's  worse  than 
chloroform." 

"  Go  on  then,"  said  Michael.  And  the  two  disap- 
peared inside. 

The  stillness  in  the  hall  was  beginning  to  be  broken  by 
an  occasional  tapping  of  feet  when  the  curtain  slowly 
rose.  Instantly  a  cheer  rose  in  the  back  seats  and 
swelled  forward  to  die  at  the  footlights  in  a  more  decor- 
ous ripple  of  hand-clapping. 

Amid  a  breathless  silence  Mr.  Finnegan  walked  on  to 
the  platform,  took  up  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
unrolled  a  bundle  of  manuscript.  His  prefatory  cough 
was  drowned  in  a  universal  groan  of  misery. 

"  Oh,  Michael,  darlin',"  piped  an  anguished  voice  from 
the  rear,  "  come  back.  Come  back  yourself,  an'  we'll  be 
good ! " 

But  Mr.  Finnegan  was  unperturbed.  He  coughed 
again,  pulled  up  his  collar  a  trifle  with  his  unoccupied 
hand,  and  began  in  a  steady  monotone: 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  —  or,  if  I  may  venture  to  ad- 
dress you  by  a  more  familiar  and  less  formal  epithet,  my 
dear  friends  of  the  town  of  Portnamuck." 

He  was  well  under  way  before  the  hall  aroused  itself 
from  its  stupor.  But  then  there  sprang  up  a  perfect 
tempest  of  objurgation  and  exasperated  protest. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       207 

"  Shut  up,  Finnegan  !  Go  home,  ye  ould  blether  ye ! 
Dry  up !  Close  your  ould  yellow  face,  Finnegan !  Try 
it  on  the  missis,  Samuel;  she's  used  to  it!  Go  home, 
Finnegan !  Put  him  out.  Put  him  out !  " 

The  last  phrase  caught  the  suffrages  of  the  multitude, 
which  settled  down  to  rhythmic  utterance  of  it,  accom- 
panied by  a  concerted  stamping  of  feet. 

"  Put  him  out,  put  him  out,  put  him  out!  "  the  ac- 
cented word  delivered  along  with  a  thunderous  stamp 
that  caused  the  very  gas-lights  to  tremble. 

Mr.  Finnegan,  who  was  long  familiar  with  such 
demonstrations,  imperturbably  continued  his  oration, 
remorselessly  turning  over  page  after  page,  suffering 
stoically  the  storm  of  light  missiles  that  showered  on 
him.  Now  and  then,  in  a  momentary  lull,  a  word  or  a 
phrase  emerged :  "  continued  prosperity,"  "  public 
spirit,"  "  a  few  of  the  most  influential,"  "  have,  as  it 
were,  banded  themselves,"  "  if  I  might  dare  to  include 
myself,"  and  lashed  the  interrupters  to  fresh  fury. 

But  by  degrees  the  tempest  slackened  and  a  feeling  of 
hopelessness  took  hold  of  even  the  most  determined. 
The  supply  of  ammunition,  too,  began  to  fail ;  and  the 
speaker  began  to  gather  even  greater  confidence  as  his 
voice  became  more  audible  to  himself. 

"  You  may  give  it  up,  boys,  an'  go  home,"  declared 
one  of  the  ringleaders  despondently.  "  I've  heard  him 
on  the  job  before.  Nothin'  short  av  a  miracle  or  a  half- 
brick'll  stop  him  now." 

"  Hould  on  a  minit,"  said  his  neighbor,  Paddy  Rogan. 
"  I've  half  a  dozen  perdas  here  yet.  Keep  away  from 
my  right  arm,  an'  I'll  maybe  sink  him ! " 

Word  of  the  forlorn  hope  radiated  from  Paddy's 
form,  and  comparative  quiet  followed. 

"  Go  on  now,  Paddy,"  muttered  his  friends  eagerly. 
"  Hit  him  low  with  a  half-boiled  one !  " 

Following  the  best  traditions  of  heavy  artillery, 
Paddy's  first  shot  fell  short,  and  took  a  small  farmer 


208       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

in  the  front  row  full  in  the  back  of  the  head.  A  roar 
of  mingled  delight  and  disappointment  saluted  the 
effort. 

"  Higher,  Paddy,  higher,"  urged  his  supporters. 
"  Put  a  bit  of  beef  into  it,  man." 

The  second  shot  sailed  over  Mr.  Finnegan's  head, 
struck  the  wall  behind  with  a  soft  thud,  and  stuck  there. 
Mr.  Finnegan  started  slightly,  stumbled  over  a  word  or 
two,  but  instantly  picked  himself  up. 

"...  And  by  steady  industry  and  unceasing  hard 
work  I  have  succeeded  in  amassing  and  gathering  to- 
gether .  .  .  Ouch ! " 

The  third  potato  took  him  fair  in  the  waistcoat  amid 
a  tempest  of  cheers.  The  undaunted  speaker  clawed 
it  off  and  dropped  it  on  the  platform  with  a  single  mo- 
tion of  his  right  hand,  and  never  even  raised  his  eyes 
from  his  manuscript. 

"  Now,  Paddy  —  now,  Paddy ;  ye  have  the  range," 
cried  the  satellites.  "  One  more  in  the  bread-basket, 
an'  he's  winded !  " 

But  Paddy's  success  had  flurried  him.  His  next  shot 
went  high,  and  the  following  one  even  higher.  A  groan 
resounded  through  the  hall. 

"  Aisy,  boys,"  muttered  the  marksman  between  his 
teeth.  "  I've  one  left  yet." 

Some  such  a  hush  must  have  fallen  as  Tell  launched 
the  fateful  arrow  at  his  devoted  child. 

Paddy  abandoned  his  concealing  crouch,  drew  himself 
to  his  full  height  and  swayed  backward  to  lend  impetus 
to  his  missile.  Undying  fame  waited  on  the  shot,  and 
he  knew  it.  Nor  was  fortune  unkind  to  him. 

With  the  hiss  of  a  rocket  the  potato  rose  in  the  air, 
abandoning  its  mealy  integument  in  the  flight.  The 
orator  marked  its  coming,  and  hastily  threw  up  his 
hands ;  but  too  late.  Just  over  the  edge  of  the  manu- 
script it  sailed.  Full  and  true  it  smote  Mr.  Finnegan 
on  the  bridge  of  the  nose  and  filled  both  his  eyes  as  it 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       209 

burst.  The  luckless  orator  staggered  back  blindly,  re- 
covered, staggered  back  again,  and  next  instant  his  heels 
went  up  as  he  disappeared  over  a  chair.  A  flock  of 
manuscript  leaves  fluttered  in  the  air,  and  settled  peace- 
fully on  his  prostrate  body  amid  a  hurricane  of  cheer- 
ing such  as  the  Portnamuck  Town  Hall  had  seldom  re- 
sounded to  before. 

The  blacksmith,  waiting  behind  the  scenes,  recognized 
the  moment,  and  stepped  out  to  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form as  the  hapless  Mr.  Finnegan  was  borne  off. 

"  Boys,"  he  said  seriously,  when  the  cheering  had 
ceased,  "  yez  have  had  your  bit  of  fun.  Let  it  be  at 
that.  This  meetin'  is  intended  to  do  good  to  iverybody 
in  this  town,  to  the  poor  man  as  well  as  the  rich ;  an'  one 
of  the  finest  gentlemen  in  the  county,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Normanby,  is  waitin'  behind  here  to  speak  to  ye/  about 
it.  I'll  not  let  him  come  on  here  to  be  insulted.  Will 
ye  listen  to  him  quietly  ?  " 

The  name  of  Mr.  Normanby  passed  through  the  hall 
like  an  electric  shock. 

"  It's  the  fortune,"  whispered  one  and  another. 
"  He's  goin'  to  back  it  with  the  fortune.  If  Mr.  Nor- 
manby is  coming  into  this  it's  a  big  thing." 

As  if  by  magic  seriousness  fell  on  the  meeting. 

The  standing  audience  at  the  back  subsided  like  a 
wave  to  a  universal  hushing;  a  slight  shuffling  of  feet 
followed  as  they  settled  into  their  places,  and  then  dead 
silence. 

The  blacksmith  was  satisfied  with  a  glance. 

"  Will  ye  come  in  now,  sir  ?  "  he  said  to  the  wings. 

Mr.  Normanby  came  on  the  platform,  and  stood  for  a 
moment,  dazzled  by  the  glaring  footlights,  then  ad- 
vanced to  the  front  and  looked  down  on  the  audience 
with  a  little  quizzical  smile. 

"  My  young  friends  at  the  back,"  he  said,  "  when  I 
was  like  you  I  would  have  enjoyed  a  little  misbehavior 
as  well  as  you  do.  But  I  am  rather  old  now,  and  not 


210        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

very  strong ;  and  perhaps  you  will  try  to  remember  that, 
and  let  the  meeting  proceed  quietly,  so  that  I  may  get 
home  in  good  time.  You  will  have  done  a  kind  action  to 
an  old  man  who  will  be  very  grateful  to  you." 

There  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  appeal  and  in  the 
tall  venerable  figure  on  the  lonely  platform  that  did  not 
need  the  glamour  of  newly  gained  wealth  to  capture 
every  heart  in  the  room. 

A  deep  murmur  of  respect  and  sympathy  resounded 
through  the  hall. 

"  Och,  the  poor  ould  fellow,"  half  sobbed  a  woman  in 
the  front  seats ;  "  give  him  a  clap." 

A  volley  of  applause  followed ;  and  then  from  the  back 
a  deep  voice  sounded: 

"  Mr.  Normanby,  sir,  if  there's  a  man  or  boy  lifts  up 
his  voice  in  this  hall  to  annoy  ye,  there's  two  or  three  of 
us  here'll  massacree  them !  " 

Mr.  Normanby  made  a  little  bow  of  acknowledgment. 

"  Thank  you,  my  friends,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Branne- 
gan  will  take  the  chair,  and  with  your  permission  we 
will  get  on  with  business." 

There  was  not  a  smile  as  Michael  walked  on  the  stage 
followed  by  his  fellow-promoters.  Even  when  Mr.  Fin- 
negan  appeared,  his  eyes  running  water  as  the  result  of 
recent  excavations,  the  slight  titter  that  arose  was  at 
once  scowled  down. 

Michael  glared  morosely  at  the  audience  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  In  order  to  save  any  more  waste  of  valuable  time," 
he  snapped,  "  the  accountant  will  now  tell  yez  what  is 
goin'  to  be  done." 

The  accountant  stepped  nimbly  forward,  drawing  an 
official-looking  typewritten  document  from  his  pocket. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  set- 
tling his  glasses  on  his  nose,  "  I  propose  first  of  all  to 
read  you  some  extracts  from  the  memorandum  of  asso- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

elation  of  the  new  company,  and  these  I  will  afterwards 
explain  to  you  more  fully. 

"  One.  The  name  of  the  company  is  the  Portna- 
muck  Woolen  Manufacturing  Co.,  Ltd." 

"  An'  what  the  divil  else  would  they  call  it  ?  "  mut- 
tered Paddy  Rogan  to  his  left-hand  neighbor. 

"  Two.  The  registered  office  of  the  company  will  be 
situated  in  Ireland." 

"  Ould  Ireland  for  ever,  and  down  wid  the  bloody  and 
brutal  Saxon,"  murmured  Paddy,  whose  virtue  was 
weighing  heavily  on  him. 

"  Three.     The  objects  of  the  company " 

"  Is  sitting  on  the  platform,"  interjected  Paddy  to 
himself. 

"  I  will  go  into  the  objects  of  the  company  later," 
said  the  accountant  parenthetically. 

"  Four.     The    liability   of   the   members   is   limited 


"  And  so  is 


"  Five.  The  capital  of  the  company  "  —  ("  Shut 
up,  Paddy,"  whispered  both  his  neighbors  at  once.)  — 
"  is  twenty  thousand  pounds,  divided  into  twenty  thou- 
sand shares  of  one  pound  each." 

A  sharp  intake  of  breath  hissed  through  the  hall. 
Every  soul  in  it  leaned  forward  eagerly.  From  that 
moment  on  there  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  but  the 
clear  precise  voice  of  the  chartered  accountant. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DURING  the  week  before  the  meeting  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge,  who  had  hitherto  found  Mr.  Jackson  an 
almost  inpeccable  cashier,  was  amazed  to  ob- 
serve him  progressing  daily  through  a  labyrinth  of  error 
to  an  evening  balance  of  anything  from  a  shilling  over 
to  from  ten  shillings  to  a  pound  short.  He  was  not 
long  in  deciding  that  there  was  an  intimate  connexion 
between  the  daily  letters  from  Miss  Nora  and  his  cash- 
ier's sudden  burst  of  inaccuracy ;  but  for  various  rea- 
sons he  remained  silent.  In  the  first  place  he  was  sat- 
isfied from  what  he  had  heard  of  the  deputation  to  the 
Rectory  that  the  fortune  was  really  existent,  and  that, 
therefore,  from  a  bank  point  of  view  he  might  rest  easy. 
Then  he  had  practically  agreed  with  Miss  Nora  that 
any  disclosure  on  the  subject  was  to  be  made  first  of 
all  to  Mr.  Jackson.  And  finally  he  had  a  dim  feeling 
that  if  the  trouble  were  of  a  sentimental  nature  he  was 
not  by  any  means  so  able  to  preserve  an  Olympian  atti- 
tude of  aloofness  as  he  had  been  some  weeks  before.  In 
addition,  and  overriding  all  these  thoughts,  was  the  con- 
sciousness, born  of  long  experience,  that  if  Mr.  Jackson 
could  tell  anything  the  best  way  to  get  it  out  of  him  was 
to  ask  no  questions. 

And  in  this  he  was  quite  correct.  The  cashier,  forti- 
fied by  his  word  of  honor  to  Miss  Nora,  might  have  with- 
stood a  daily  battery  of  questions ;  but  in  the  face  of  his 
manager's  cheerful  assumption  that  all  was  going  well, 
he  fairly  ached  to  unburden  himself  of  his  growing  un- 
easiness. 

For  there  had  been  neither  telegram  nor  letter  from 
212 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Spain.  This  had  been  disconcerting  enough  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  week ;  but  when  after  sufficient  time  for  a 
reply  to  Miss  Nora's  wire  there  came  no  letter,  and  the 
meeting  was  only  a  day  off,  the  situation  became  des- 
perate. 

Mr.  Normanby,  content  to  leave  the  affair  in  his 
daughter's  hands,  went  his  way  unconscious  of  any 
hitch,  and  harrowed  Nora  so  much  with  schemes  for  the 
improvement  of  the  town  that  to  keep  the  public  from 
him  she  voluntarily  imprisoned  herself  in  the  house ;  and 
in  the  pale  serious  girl  who  stole  out  to  meet  him  for  a 
few  moments  each  evening,  Mr.  Jackson  could  scarcely 
recognize  his  quondam  comrade. 

He  himself  was  scarcely  less  worried;  but  there  was 
this  difference  between  the  two,  that  while  Jackson  was 
decidedly  hopeful  that  all  would  yet  turn  out  well,  he 
was  desperately  anxious  to  obtain  the  advice  of  his  man- 
ager; whereas  Miss  Nora,  who  became  every  day  more 
pessimistic,  refused  almost  fiercely  to  consult  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge. 

"  I  won't,  Jacks ;  I  tell  you  I  won't,"  she  reiterated 
stubbornly.  "  I'd  almost  as  soon  tell  Dad  as  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge." 

"  Well,  what  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do  then, 
Nora  ? "  asked  Jackson  the  day  before  the  meeting. 
"  Something  must  be  done  before  to-morrow  night." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  almost  wailed.  "  Amn't  I 
nearly  distracted  trying  to  think  out  some  plan?  Wait 
a  moment  or  two."  She  stood  in  thought.  "  Jacks," 
she  said,  "  I  won't  tell  Dad  till  the  very  last  possible 
minute  that  there  may  be  something  wrong.  After  all 
the  castles  in  the  air  he  has  built  it  would  be  a  dreadful 
blow  to  him.  It  might  kill  him." 

"  Chance  it  then,  Nora,"  said  Jackson.  "  I  believe 
the  money  will  be  all  right.  Let  him  promise  his  sup- 
port to  the  factory  anyhow.  You'll  know  time  enough 
to  let  him  back  out  of  it  later." 


2U       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  No,  Jacks,  I  can't  do  that,"  said  Miss  Nora  soberly. 
"  That  would  kill  poor  Dad  for  sure.  He'd  never  hold 
up  his  head  again.  Oh  "  —  she  ground  her  teeth  in  a 
spasm  of  rage  —  "  if  I  only  had  my  hands  on  that  little 
Spanish  devil !  Jacks,"  she  cried,  "  we'll  not  say  die 
yet,  anyhow.  The  English  mail  comes  in  to-morrow 
night  at  half-past  eight,  and  dad's  not  going  to  the 
meeting  till  after  that.  There'll  maybe  be  a  letter ;  and 
if  there  isn't  we'll  have  time  to  stop  him  saying  any- 
thing." 

Mr.  Jackson  breathed  with  relief.  It  was  twenty- 
four  hours'  release  from  responsibility. 

"  I'll  meet  the  post  and  come  straight  here,"  he  said. 
*'  There's  sure  to  be  a  letter,  Nora." 

"  Right-oh,  Jacks,"  said  Nora,  almost  gaily.  "  I'll 
call  you  Elijah  the  Second  if  it  comes  off.  I  say, 
Jacks,"  —  anxiously  —  "  you  won't  fail  me?  " 

"  I'll  be  there  from  eight,"  said  Jackson.  "  But, 
Nora,"  —  he  hesitated  —  "  if  there's  no  letter  you'll 
let  me  consult  the  manager,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  NO,"  cried  Nora  violently.  "  Come  by 
yourself,  or  I'll  never  forgive  you."  She  made  a  few 
steps  towards  the  house,  then  turned  to  the  discomfited 
cashier.  "  I'd  rather  anybody  in  the  world  should 
know  than  Mr.  Wildridge !  " 

"  Good  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  to  himself,  as  he 
gazed  ruefully  after  her,  "  what  a  spite  she  has  at  the 
boss!" 

During  the  following  day  his  thoughts  were  such  a 
chaos  that  it  was  without  any  surprise  he  found  himself 
balancing  over  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  short! 
So  large  a  shortage,  unlikely  to  turn  out  an  actual  loss, 
seldom  alarms  a  bank  cashier,  and  it  was  not  till  about 
six  o'clock,  when  the  deficit,  reduced  to  ninety-five 
pounds,  obstinately  refused  to  become  any  less,  that  Mr. 
Jackson  in  alarm  began  to  put  his  own  affairs  in  the 
foreground  of  his  mind. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       215 

"  I  say,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  rather  scared  voice  to  his 
manager,  "  this  begins  to  look  rather  bad.  What  had 
I  better  do?" 

"  Cut  off  home  for  your  dinner,"  said  the  manager. 
"  You're  too  hungry  and  tired  to  work  now.  When  you 
come  back  you'll  be  fresh  and  clear-headed  again,  and 
you'll  find  the  mistake  in  a  twinkling.  Maybe  I'll  have 
found  it  for  you.  I'll  come  straight  downstairs  after 
dinner.  Off  with  you  now,  and  don't  think  about  it  till 
you  return." 

But  when  Mr.  Jackson  returned  at  seven  o'clock  the 
money  had  not  turned  up ;  and  at  twenty  minutes  past 
eight,  half  distracted  between  his  anxiety  about  Nora 
and  his  own  apparent  catastrophe,  disheveled  into  a  car- 
icature of  his  usual  spruceness,  and  inked  to  the  wrists, 
he  was  still  ninety-five  pounds  short. 

The  manager,  who  had  been  working  loyally  on  every 
possible  and  impossible  clue,  was  scarcely  less  perturbed. 

"  We'll  have  to  make  a  night  of  it,  Jackson,  my  son," 
he  said,  "  and  give  up  all  thought  of  the  meeting.  We 
can't  possibly  go  off  leaving  you  that  amount  short." 

"  I'll  have  to  go  now,  sir,  short  or  not,"  said  Jackson 
with  a  despairing  look  at  the  clock.  "  I  promised  to 
bring  Nora  a  letter  from  the  English  mail,  and  I  must 
do  it." 

"  A  promise  is  a  promise,"  said  the  manager,  "  par- 
ticularly in  this  case.  I'll  work  here  till  you  return. 
Or,  look  here,  Jackson,"  he  said  with  a  little  hesitation, 
"  I'll  take  the  letter  to  Miss  Nora." 

"  I  wish  to  heavens  you  could,  sir,"  cried  the  harassed 
cashier  whole-heartedly ;  "  but  if  I  let  you  she'd  have 
my  life." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  think  that,"  returned  the  man- 
ager, smiling  tolerantly. 

"  I  know  you  think  it's  my  cheek,  sir,"  said  Jack- 
son— ("Where  the  dickens  is  my  hat?  ")--"  but  " 
—  he  hesitated  — "  she  told  me  so  herself." 


216       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

In  spite  of  himself  the  manager  looked  glum. 

"  Oh,  she  told  you  that,  did  she,"  he  said  slowly. 
("  Perhaps  now  you'll  remember,  friend  Wildridge,  that 
to  a  girl  of  that  age  you're  a  bald-headed  old  bore,"  he 
reflected  to  himself  with  a  half -humorous  bitterness.) 
"  Hurry  back  then,  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  went  on,  a  little 
more  formally.  "  In  the  interests  of  the  Bank  I  should 
like,  if  possible,  to  look  into  the  meeting.  I'm  invited, 
you  know,  as  well  as  the  Opposition." 

Mr.  Jackson  made  his  way  slowly  to  the  door,  paused, 
then  came  back  to  the  counter  with  a  rush. 

"  I  say,  sir,"  he  burst  out.  "  I  can't  hold  in  any 
longer.  There's  a  muddle  over  the  fortune,  a  devil  of  a 
muddle.  Will  you  stay  here  till  I  return  in  spite  of  the 
meeting?  Old  Berryman  can't  go  anyway;  he's  got  in- 
fluenza." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will  if  you  wish  it,  my  dear  Jackson," 
said  the  manager  with  concern.  "  I'm  as  much  inter- 
ested in  the  fortune  —  in  a  bank  sense  —  as  you  are 
yourself.  But  if  Miss  Nora  won't  let  you  tell  me  any- 
thing   " 

"  She  will  tell  you  —  she  must  tell  you,"  stammered 
Jackson  excitedly.  "  I've  been  worried  to  death  for  a 
week  over  it  all,  and  now  I've  near  broke  myself.  She'll 
come  down  now  and  tell  you  herself  if  I  have  to  carry 
her!" 

"  She's  a  big,  well-nourished  girl,"  said  the  manager 
dubiously. 

"  For  heaven's  sake  don't  chaff  me,  sir,"  cried  Jack- 
son. "  I'm  nearly  astray  in  the  head  as  it  is.  We'll 
be  back  in  twenty  minutes." 

He  vanished  behind  the  swinging  doors,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment reappeared,  breathless. 

"  Of  course  if  the  letter  comes  I'll  not  be  able  to  tell 
you  at  all,  sir.  But  it  won't  come,  no  more  than  I'll 
find  my  ninety-five  pounds.  I  couldn't  have  that  much 
luck !  "  And  he  vanished  for  the  second  time. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        217 

The  manager  regarded  the  oscillating  doors  expect- 
antly, but  his  cashier  did  not  again  return.  He  re- 
mained in  thought  for  a  short  space,  then  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  smiled  whimsically,  and  lighting  a  cigarette 
was  soon  deeply  immersed  in  Mr.  Jackson's  accounts. 

Meanwhile  the  cashier  had  pushed  his  way  into  the 
post  office  through  the  usual  crowd  of  women,  whom 
even  the  attraction  of  the  meeting  had  not  been  able  to 
divert  from  their  customary  rendezvous. 

"  Anything  for  me,  Lizzie  ?  "  he  demanded  from  the 
postmistress's  young  assistant.  "  Hurry  up,  like  a 
good  girl." 

Now  in  spite  of  his  preoccupation  at  the  Rectory  Mr. 
Jackson  in  the  past  had  not  been  above  the  little  dalli- 
ance demanded  by  Miss  Lizzie's  youth  and  undoubted 
good  looks,  and  she  resented  his  bruskness. 

"  The  letters  aren't  sorted  yet,  Mr.  Jackson,"  she 
answered  coldly.  "  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute  or  two." 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Jackson's  anxiety  about  the  letter  he 
could  not  help  his  thoughts  turning  to  the  possibility, 
or  rather  impossibility,  of  his  having  paid  some  one  out 
a  hundred  pounds  instead  of  five;  and  he  gazed  with 
annoying  absent-mindedness  at  the  pretty  assistant 
when  she  told  him  there  were  no  letters  for  him. 

Then  all  at  once  he  awoke  to  the  significance  of  her 
reply. 

"  No  letters,  Lizzie,"  he  asked  in  dismay ;  "  are  you 
sure?" 

"  Positive,"  answered  Lizzie  with  a  certain  amount  of 
satisfaction. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Jackson  to  himself  slowly. 
"  What  on  earth's  to  be  done  now?  "  Then,  "  What  a 
fool  I  am,"  he  thought  suddenly.  "  Lizzie  —  Lizzie ;  I 
mean  for  Mr.  Normanby." 

"  There's  nothing  for  Mr.  Normanby,"  answered  Liz- 
zie primly ;  "  or  for  Miss  Normanby  either,"  she  added 
with  a  toss  of  her  head. 


218       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Nothing?  "  demanded  Jackson,  but  without  convic- 
tion. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Lizzie  positively ;  "  not  even  a 
bill,"  she  fired  after  him  as  he  hurried  out. 

All  the  way  to  the  Rectory  Mr.  Jackson's  brain  rang 
the  changes  on  two  themes :  "  What  on  earth  will  Nora 
do  now?  "  and  "  Surely  I  couldn't  have  lost  ninety-five 
pounds  ? "  but  connected  thought  on  either  was  utterly 
beyond  him.  A  hundred  yards  from  the  gate  his  pace 
slowed  down,  and  he  came  almost  to  a  full  stop.  Then 
he  started  forward  again. 

"  She  must  tell  him,"  he  muttered  determinedly,  and 
opened  the  gate. 

Half-way  up  the  avenue  Miss  Nora  started  out  of  the 
bushes. 

"  Whatever  kept  you,  Jacks,"  she  uttered  breath- 
lessly. "  Is  there  a  letter  ?  " 

"  No  letter,  Nora,"  said  Jackson. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"  Oh,  the  little  devil,  the  little  devil,"  ground  out  Miss 
Normanby  between  her  teeth ;  "  if  I  only  had  him  here ! 
And  Dad's  gone  off  to  the  meeting.  What  am  I  to  do, 
Jacks ;  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Nora,"  muttered  Jacks  lamely,  "  I 
can't  tell  you." 

"  Think,  man,  think,  can't  you  ?  "  She  grasped  his 
arm  and  shook  it  furiously.  "  Am  I  to  tell  Dad  or 
not?" 

"  Look  here,  Nora,"  said  Jackson,  "  I  can't  think. 
I'm  ninety-five  pounds  short  in  my  cash 

"  Oh,  hang  your  old  cash,"  cried  Miss  Nora.  —  "  I 
don't  mean  it,  Jacks.  I'm  real  sorry;  but  can't  you 
spare  a  thought  for  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,  I  like  that,"  returned  Jackson 
with  heat,  "  when  it  was  thinking  of  this  infernal  Span- 
ish business  made  me  lose  my  money.  You  must  come 
along  to  the  manager,  Nora.  Do  now.  He's  had  any 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       219 

amount  of  experience.  He'll  advise  you,  and  we  can 
still  get  to  the  meeting  in  time." 

Miss  Normanby  stood  for  a  moment  in  hesitation. 

"  I  can't,  I  can't,"  she  burst  out.  "  I'd  die  of  shame 
if  it  all  turns  out  to  be  a  fraud,  and  he  finds  out  what 
a  juggins  I've  been!" 

An  inspiration  came  to  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Listen,  Nora,"  he  said ;  "  you  remember  that  fifty 
pounds  ?  You  thought  I  gave  it  to  you.  But  I  didn't. 
It  was  the  manager.  And  not  from  the  Bank  at  all. 
Out  of  his  own  pocket,  for  fear  you'd  be  in  a  hole." 

Miss  Nora  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then,  "  I 
say,  Jacks,"  she  asked  with  a  curious  inflexion  in  her 
voice,  "  did  he  give  it  to  me  off'  his  own  bat  —  you  didn't 
ask  him,  I  mean?  " 

"  It  was  his  own  notion  entirely,"  said  the  cashier. 
"  Of  course  I'd  have  given  it  to  you  myself  if  I'd  had 
it,"  he  added  hastily. 

"  And  after  I'd  played  him  that  rotten  trick  about 
the  rat,"  continued  Miss  Nora,  unheeding.  "  Come 
along,  Jacks,  quick,"  she  cried,  hurying  towards  the 
gate.  "  There'll  be  time  enought  to  stop  Dad  after- 
wards if  we  don't  lose  a  minute.  Quick,  quick,  Jacks; 
come  along ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  hall  door  of  the  Bank  was  opened  by  the 
manager  himself,  with  his  hat  on,  ready  to  go 
out. 

"  Keep  cool,  Jackson,  my  son,"  said  the  manager, 
stepping  back  to  admit  his  agitated  subordinate ;  "  your 
ninety-five  pounds  have  turned  up  —  a  hundred  of  gold 
put  up  in  a  five-pound  silver  bag.  '  Infinite  riches  in  a 
little  room,'  eh?  " 

"  Whoop ! "  shouted  the  delighted  cashier,  dancing 
round  in  momentary  forgetfulness  of  Miss  Normanby 
out  on  the  steps.  "  Nora,  Nora,"  he  called,  "  come  in. 
I've  found  my  money." 

"  Gracious,"  exclaimed  the  manager,  throwing  wide 
the  door,  "  is  Miss  Normanby  there?  " 

Miss  Nora  stepped  into  the  hall  and  stood  dazzled  in 
the  light.  A  deep  blush  intensified  the  glow  of  exercise 
in  her  cheeks,  and  her  curls  hung  round  her  face  in  an 
adorable  tangle.  As  she  looked  at  the  manager  with  a 
swift  shyness  clouding  the  frankness  of  her  eyes  he  felt 
twenty-five  again. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  she  began,  "  you'll  think  me 
awful  coming  to  see  you  like  this " 

"  Faith,  it's  the  last  thought  in  my  mind.  Sure  I'm 
only  an  old  fellow,"  said  the  manager,  pressing  her  hand 
with  a  warmth  somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  his  words. 
"  Come  upstairs,  children,  and  I'll  have  in  Jane  to  play 
propriety  —  when  she  washes  her  face." 

"  We  can't,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  Miss  Nora  breath- 
lessly. "  There  isn't  time.  I'm  in  such  a  dreadful 
hole;  oh,  won't  you  advise  me  and  help  me?"  Pier 
voice  shook. 

220 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        821 

"  And  will  I  not  ?  "  answered  the  manager,  patting 
her  hand  reassuringly. 

"  Quick,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  eagerly.  "  Tell  him. 
There's  not  a  moment  to  be  lost." 

In  as  few  words  as  possible  Jackson  ran  over  the 
whole  episode  of  the  Spanish  turnkey.  All  the  time 
Miss  Nora  looked  anxiously  in  the  manager's  face.  But 
it  remained  impassive.  Only  when  the  recital  came  to 
an  end  his  soft  patting  of  Miss  Nora's  hand  ceased,  and 
he  laid  his  hand  firmly  on  hers. 

"  Can  you  stand  a  hard  knock,  big  girl?  "  he  answered 
to  her  anxious  look.  Miss  Nora  nodded  without  speak- 
ing. 

"It's  just  an  old,  old  swindle  then,  my  dear,"  said 
the  manager ;  "  but  an  ingenious  one  that  might  have 
taken  in  more  experienced  people  than  you  or  your 
father.  I  wish,  I  wish  you  had  confided  in  me  long  ago. 
Never  mind  now,"  he  added  hastily,  as  the  girl's  lip' 
trembled ;  "  we're  all  right  still.  There's  time  yet  to 
stop  your  father  from  promising  anything.  Keep  up 
your  heart." 

"  But  he  's  gone  to  the  meeting  half  an  hour  ago,  sir," 
said  Jackson. 

"  Never  say  die,"  returned  the  manager,  throwing 
open  the  door.  "  Maybe  Finnegan  will  be  in  the  chair ; 
and  I  hear  he's  a  terror.  Bang  the  door,  Jackson. 
Come  on  now,  children  "  —  he  grasped  Miss  Norman- 
by's  hand  and  broke  into  a  run  —  "  make  for  the  Town 
Hall  like " 

"  Like  blazes,"  whispered  Miss  Nora  mischievously, 
her  spirits  rising  as  she  ran.  "  Are  you  shocked?  " 

"  The  very  word  I  wanted,"  answered  the  manager 
gaily.  "  And  amn't  I  delighted  to  see  you  keeping  up 
your  heart." 

"  Oh,  hang  the  old  money,"  panted  Miss  Nora,  "  if 
we're  only  in  time  to  save  Dad." 

"  And  we  will  be,  too,"  said  the  manager  between 


222        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

gasps.  "  Look  at  the  crowd.  The  meeting's  not  half 
over." 

"  Make  for  the  back  door,  sir,"  panted  Mr.  Jackson 
from  the  rear,  "  and  we'll  get  straight  up  on  to  the  plat- 
form. My  goodness,  sir,  it's  packed  with  people !  " 

And  by  this  time  indeed,  between  the  news  of  the  dis- 
turbance inside  and  the  timely  shutting  of  the  front 
doors  by  the  caretaker,  the  back  door  of  the  hall  was 
besieged  by  forty  or  fifty  people,  while  the  condition  of 
the  passage  and  stairs  was  indescribable.  A  mingled 
stream  of  shrieks,  appeals,  and  oaths  floated  out  on  the 
night,  but  only  stimulated  the  desire  of  those  outside  to 
obtain  entrance.  Every  few  moments  the  crowd  at  the 
door  was  violently  convulsed,  a  disheveled  figure  would 
emerge,  and  the  numbers  would  be  diminished  as  the  rush 
into  the  vacuum  created  packed  the  passage  even  more 
tightly  than  before. 

"  No  use  trying  there,"  said  the  manager.  "  Make 
for  the  front  door." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  recognizing 
the  latest  fugitive  from  the  crush.  "  Terry,"  he  asked 
eagerly,  "  do  you  think  we  could  get  Miss  Normanby 
up  by  the  stairs  ?  " 

Terry's  disconsolate  glance  at  the  tattered  skirts  of 
his  coat  changed  to  a  smile  as  he  looked  up  and  recog- 
nized the  cashier. 

"  Sure,  Misther  Jackson,  ye  can't  do  betther  than 
try.  An'  bedambut  if  ye  get  her  the  length  of  the  foot 
av  the  stairs,  she'll  get  a  squeeze  the  like  av  she  niver 
got  in  her  life  before,  not  makin'  little  av  yourself,  Mis- 
ther Jackson,  in  any  way." 

"  Come  on  to  the  front  door,  sir,"  said  Jackson  in 
some  confusion.  "  Maybe  it's  not  so  bad." 

"  Listen,  now,  Misther  Jackson,"  whispered  Terry 
anxiously,  "  you're  makin'  a  mistake.  The  divil  a  bit 
harm  it'll  do  her.  Slip  your  arm  round  her  waist  as  ye 
go  in,  an'  she'll  think  you're  doin'  it  all  yourself. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        223 

Run,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "  bedambut  the  boss  is  away 
wid  her !  " 

When  Jackson  reached  the  front  of  the  hall  he  found 
his  manager  parleying  with  the  caretaker  through  the 
door. 

"  It's  Miss  Normanby,  I  tell  you.  She  wishes  to 
speak  to  her  father." 

"  That's  not  Miss  Normanby's  voice,"  came  from  in- 
side. "  An'  anyway  you  can't  get  Mr.  Normanby  now. 
He's  up  speaking." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  cried  Miss  Nora  in  an  agony 
of  distress,  "  we're  going  to  be  just  too  late.  Let  me  in, 
Robinson,  you  old  fool,  or  I'll  not  leave  a  window  in  the 
place ! "  She  looked  round  hastily  for  ammunition, 
and  as  luck  would  have  it  picked  up  one  of  Paddy  Ro- 
gan's  plundered  potatoes  that  he  had  dropped  going  in, 
as  being  insufficiently  boiled. 

"  Don't,  Nora,  for  goodness'  sake,"  begged  the 
alarmed  cashier  as  Nora  raised  her  hand. 

"  Shut  up,  Jackson,"  ordered  his  chief  sharply. 
"  Put  it  through  the  fanlight,  quick,"  he  said  to  the  hes- 
itating Nora.  "  It  will  maybe  interrupt  the  meeting." 

But  that  moment  the  door  opened  cautiously,  and  the 
next  the  three  were  inside  over  the  prostrate  body  of 
the  overturned  caretaker. 

The  hall  was  packed,  and  every  passage  closed  with 
a  dense  mass  of  humanity.  Away  at  the  platform  end 
the  venerable  figure  of  Mr.  Normanby  could  be  dimly 
descried  through  the  haze  of  dust  raised  by  the  approv- 
ing stamp  of  feet.  Every  now  and  then  his  clear  thin 
tones  could  be  heard  between  the  bursts  of  applause. 

"  We  can  never  reach  him,"  gasped  Miss  Nora. 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  Wait,"  cried  the  manager,  hastening  back  to  the 
door.  "  Here,  caretaker,  push  through  the  crowd  — 
they'll  let  you  pass  —  and  tell  Mr.  Normanby  his 
daughter  is  ill.  A  sovereign  if  you  do  it.  Hurry, 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

now  —  don't  blarney !  "  He  pushed  the  bewildered 
man  into  the  skirts  of  the  crowd. 

For  a  few  feet  the  caretaker  made  progress.  The 
crush  at  the  door  was  not  quite  so  dense  as  in  the  body 
of  the  hall,  and  the  attempt  of  the  caretaker  was  a  sur- 
prise. But  the  instant  his  purpose  of  interruption  was 
divined,  he  was  wedged  hopelessly,  and  a  dozen  brawny 
fists  awed  him  into  silence.  All  he  could  do  was  to  sig- 
nal to  the  manager  the  hopelessness  of  further  struggle. 

"  Call,  Nora,"  cried  Mr.  Jackson  in  spluttering  ex- 
citement. "  Call ;  your  father  will  recognize  the  voice." 

But  the  attention  of  the  audience  round  the  door  had 
been  attracted  by  the  caretaker's  attempt.  In  some 
mysterious  way  they  realized  that  the  diversion  was  a 
hostile  one.  At  his  daughter's  ringing  "  Dad ! "  Mr. 
Normanby  paused  for  a  puzzled  moment;  but  all  else 
was  lost  in  a  burst  of  applause  from  about  the  door. 
In  vain  Miss  Nora  flashed  lightning  on  the  offenders 
from  her  indignant  eyes.  Every  time  she  attempted  to 
speak  her  words  were  deliberately  drowned. 

"  That's  right,  boys,"  cried  Paddy  Rogan  as  she  de- 
sisted breathlessly ;  "  don't  let  her  speak.  She  wants 
to  keep  the  money  in  the  family,  and  not  give  the  poor 
man  a  chance." 

A  menacing  roar  of  "  Silence !  "  rose  from  every  part 
of  the  hall.  In  the  pause  that  followed,  Mr.  Norman- 
by's  voice  traveled  clear  and  distinct  to  the  trio  at  the 
door :  "  Time  now  that  I  came  to  my  share  in  the  ven- 
ture   " 

Miss  Nora  turned  to  the  manager  in  despairing  res- 
ignation. But  her  lip  quivered. 

"  It's  all  up,  Mr.  Wildridge.  You've  been  a  brick." 
A  sudden  spasm  of  fury  seized  her.  "  Oh,  that  scoun- 
drel Rogan !  "  She  spun  on  her  heel  and  glared  at  the 
triumphant  face  of  her  persecutor.  His  triumph  was 
short-lived.  Like  a  stone  from  a  catapult  the  potato 
flew  from  Miss  Nora's  hand.  Paddy's  bellow  of  an- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       225 

guish  as  it  took  him  full  in  the  left  eye  was  followed  by  a 
peal  of  laughter  from  his  delighted  cronies,  who  ac- 
knowledged the  poetic  justice  of  his  calamity.  Again 
a  roar  of  "  Silence ! "  burst  from  the  remainder  of  the 
audience.  The  speaker  paused  uncertainly. 

"By  the  powers,"  ejaculated  the  manager,  slapping 
his  thigh  in  delight,  "  I  have  it !  Quick,  blow  down  a 
gaspipe.  Where's  there  an  unlighted  jet?  " 

Miss  Nora  jumped  into  the  air,  clapping  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  you  darling,"  she  cried.  "  Lift  me,  Jacks. 
There's  one  above  your  head !  " 

Mr.  Jackson  passed  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

Infatuation  seized  him  at  the  contact.  For  an  in- 
finitesimal instant  he  pressed  her  to  him.  The  next  he 
staggered  back  with  his  face  tingling  from  a  slap  de- 
livered with  all  the  force  of  Miss  Nora's  vigorous  young 
arm. 

"  You  fool  —  you  fool !  "  she  hissed  in  white  rage. 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,  lift  me,  quick !  " 

Instantly  the  manager  swung  her  aloft. 

"  Blow  now,  daughter,"  he  cried  anxiously,  "  blow 
like  —  like  blazes !  " 

All  the  breath  in  Miss  Nora's  lungs  exhaled  in  one 
desperate  puff.  She  drew  a  deep  inspiration  and  again 
blew  into  the  jet. 

"  That  should  do,"  she  gasped,  and  slithered  down 
inside  the  manager's  arms.  She  stood  there  close  be- 
side him.  The  manager's  right  arm  lay  lightly  round 
her  waist.  She  grasped  his  hand  convulsively.  All 
three  looked  eagerly  at  the  door  of  the  hall. 

Slowly  the  light  failed.  The  one  jet  in  their  view 
shrunk  little  by  little.  Semi-darkness  fell  on  the  hall. 
Some  one  screamed.  But  the  voice  of  the  orator  con- 
tinued placidly,  a  little  louder  even,  the  better  to  cope 
with  the  diversion: 

"  And  out  of  the  great  wealth  that  has  come  to  me  I 
propose  to  assist  this  project  by  taking  up  shares " 


226       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

("  Oh,"  breathed  Miss  Nora.  The  gas-light  shrunk 
to  a  blue  pin-point) — "to  the  extent" — Mr.  Nor- 
manby  made  a  dramatic  pause —  ("  Oh,  quick,  quick," 
prayed  Miss  Nora  franticaUy)  — £'  of  ten  thousand 
pounds ! " 

The  gas  flapped  faintly  and  went  out. 

Instantly  pandemonium  arose  in  the  hall ;  a  tumult  of 
cheering,  shouting,  and  screams.  Wives  called  pite- 
ously  on  their  husbands  and  children;  children  howled 
for  their  parents,  and  their  fathers  alternately  swore 
and  pacified  them ;  the  town  youths  whistled  shrilly  to 
their  chums ;  forms  fell  heavily,  and  people  tumbled  over 
them.  A  confused  mass  of  humanity  poured  out  of  the 
hall  laughing,  cursing,  shrieking,  and  struggling.  In 
an  instant  the  vestibule  was  filled.  The  caretaker,  cast 
up  against  the  doors  by  the  first  wave,  tugged  fran- 
tically at  the  bars  and  roared  encouragement  high  above 
the  tumult.  But,  as  usual  in  such  places,  the  doors 
opened  inwards,  and  all  his  efforts  were  fruitless.  A 
dismal  wailing  of  women  arose  as  the  pressure  from  the 
hall  increased.  For  a  few  minutes  tragedy  was  at  hand. 
Then  some  one  thought  of  the  emergency  doors  at  the 
side,  which  opened  outwards.  The  bolts  were  pulled, 
and  in  a  twinkling  a  dense  current  of  men,  women,  and 
children  foamed  into  the  street. 

At  the  first  rush  the  manager  had  drawn  Miss  Nora 
into  a  safe  corner  behind  a  pillar. 

For  a  sickening  space  of  terror  she  clung  to  him  as 
the  dreadful  crush  increased. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  she  sobbed,  "they'll  all  be 
killed,  they'll  all  be  killed ;  and  I  did  it !  " 

The  manager  shielded  her  protectingly,  and  patted 
her  shoulder  softly.  She  could  not  hear  his  murmured 
words ;  but  the  tone  was  cool  and  confident,  and  with  an 
effort  she  became  calm.  Then  suddenly  the  side  doors 
burst  open.  The  pressure  at  once  slackened.  The 
front  doors  were  forced  back  from  outside,  and  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

crowd  poured  out  in  a  broad,  almost  orderly  mass. 
Her  anxiety  for  her  father,  momentarily  obscured  by 
the  instant  stress  of  peril,  returned  with  full  force. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  she  moaned,  "  poor  Dad,  poor 
old  Dad.  How  will  I  tell  him  now,  when  he  has  pledged 
himself  before  the  whole  town?  The  disgrace  will  kill 
him,  it  will  kill  my  poor  Dad." 

She  laid  her  head  on  the  manager's  shoulder,  and 
burst  into  a  convulsive  spasm  of  distress. 

The  manager's  arm  tightened  round  her  waist.  With 
his  other  hand  he  stroked  her  hair  softly. 

"  Easy,  Nora  girl,"  he  murmured  soothingly,  "  don't 
distress  yourself  like  that.  Be  a  plucky  big  girl,  as 
you've  shown  yourself  to-night.  Let  me  think  it  all  out, 
and  maybe  you'll  not  need  to  tell  him." 

He  felt  her  raise  her  head. 

"  Can  you  do  anything?  "  she  uttered  in  incredulous 
delight ;  "  oh,  can  you  do  anything?  " 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him  in  the  darkness.  The  very 
immaturity  of  the  lithe  young  body  that  yielded  towards 
his  thrilled  him  headily.  What  is  philosophy  in  such  a 
moment,  even  when  a  man  is  thirty-eight? 

"  Nora,"  he  whispered  unsteadily,  "  if  you'll  trust  me 
I'll  get  you  out  of  this  mess  should  I  die  for  it !  " 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured  —  he  could  scarcely  catch  the 
shy  whisper  —  "  I'd  trust  you  with  anything." 

Her  head  sank  forward  on  his  shoulder,  the  cool, 
fresh  cheek  touched  his.  Slowly  the  manager  raised  the 
half-reluctant  chin,  then  bent  his  lips  to  hers. 

"  No,"  muttered  the  girl  appealingly ;  "  please,  no  — 

please  —  I  promised  mother  —  only  to "  Her 

voice  died  into  a  whisper,  and  with  a  sudden  movement 
she  hid  her  face  again  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Only  to  whom,  Nora  ?  "  asked  the  manager  thickly. 

She  moved  her  head  a  little.  The  soft  mouth  touched 
his  ear. 

"  You  —  you  know,"  she  breathed. 


228       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Not  even  the  guardian  angel  of  the  middle-aged  is 
always  at  his  post. 

Swiftly  the  manager  bent  his  head.  The  little  chin 
yielded  to  his  coaxing  pressure.  The  fragrant  lips  were 
just  beneath  his. 

At  this  moment  the  manager's  eye  caught  the  arc  of 
phosphoric  light  as  the  head  of  a  match  hissed  along  the 
leg  of  the  caretaker's  trousers.  The  experience  of  a 
youth  not  devoid  of  gallantry  served  the  manager  well. 
Before  the  gas  flared  he  and  the  bewildered  Miss  Nora 
were  being  borne  down  the  steps  by  the  thinning  stream 
of  populace. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  crowd  gathered  round  the 
doors  they  were  pounced  upon  by  Jackson. 

"  Hallo,  sir,"  he  exclaimed  joyfully;  "  I  thought  you 
were  both  done  for." 

"  We  were  very  near  it,  Jackson,  my  son,"  said  .the 
manager  soberly.  "  Another  second  or  two,  and  it  was 
all  up  with  us.  Is  Mr.  Normanby  all  right  ?  " 

"  Right  as  a  trivet,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  There  was  no  rush  by  the  platform." 

"  Then,  hey !  for  the  Rectory,  Miss  Normanby," 
cried  the  manager,  tucking  her  arm  into  his.  "  Which 
street,  Jackson?  Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said,  as  the 
cashier  rather  pointedly  took  up  a  position  on  the  man- 
ager's side,  "  don't  you  know  Miss  Normanby?  " 

"  Bearing  malice,  are  you,  Jacks  ?  "  demanded  Miss 
Nora  with  her  normal  ease  of  manner. 

"  No,"  answered  Mr.  Jackson  after  a  slight  hesita- 
tion. He  changed  across  to  Miss  Nora's  side.  "  But 
if  I  wasn't  in  good  form  after  finding  my  ninety-five 
pounds,  I  would.  You've  a  hand  like  a  blacksmith, 
Nora ;  and  you're  deuced  fond  of  using  it." 

"  Now  look  here,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora,  "  it  was 
the  wrong  time  to  play  the  goat,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  I  wasn't  doing  anything,"  protested  Mr.  Jackson. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        229 

"  But  I  say,  Nora,  how  are  you  in  such  good  form  ?  I 
thought  you'd  be  in  the  dumps  altogether." 

The  manager  was  conscious  that  his  arm  was  receiv- 
ing a  little  squeeze. 

"  Mr.  Jackson,"  he  said  rather  formally,  "  I've  been 
telling  Miss  Nora  that  I  think  there's  a  possible  way  out 
of  the  tangle.  Mind,  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  there  is  " 
—  he  heard  Miss  Nora's  gasp  of  dismay,  and  resolutely 
drew  her  arm  farther  into  his  — "  but  if  you  two  chil- 
dren will  let  me  think  hard  between  here  and  the  Rec- 
tory gates  I  hope  to  be  able  to  see  daylight." 

With  the  exception  of  a  curt  "  Shut  up,  Jacks,"  from 
Miss  Nora  in  answer  to  a  prefatory  cough  of  the  cash- 
ier, silence  was  observed  all  the  way. 

"  Well?  "  asked  Miss  Nora  hopefully,  as  they  stopped 
at  the  gate. 

"  Don't  vex  your  curly  head  about  it  to-night  then, 
Nora,"  said  the  manager,  a  little  fatherly ;  "  for  I  think 
I  can  find  a  way." 

"  Really  and  truly  ?  "  said  Miss  Nora  slowly.  She 
came  nearer  him  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"  Really  and  truly,"  answered  the  manager.  His 
tight,  lingering  hand-clasp  was  by  no  means  so  fatherly. 
"  Sleep  well ;  Jackson  and  I  will  pull  you  through.  And 
not  a  word  to  Mr.  Normanby.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow 
evening,  sure." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Normanby,  and  only  one  of  the  two 
men  marked  the  note  in  her  voice;  "  if  you  tell  me  not 
to,  I'll  not  worry.  'Night,  Jacks." 

And  her  retreating  steps  on  the  gravel  walk  sounded 
firm  and  confident. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry,  Jackson,"  said  the  manager, 
looking  after  her,  "  she's  a  great  girl.  And  now,  my 
son,  don't  say  a  word  to  me  except  '  Good  night.'  I 
have  a  bit  of  meditating  to  do  ;  and  to-morrow  you  and  I 
will  put  our  heads  together." 


£30       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

The  manager  sat  ever  the  fire  in  deep  thought  for  the 
space  of  two  pipes.  Then  he  knocked  out  the  ashes  of 
the  second  slowly  against  the  heel  of  his  boot,  blew 
through  the  pipe  absent-mindedly,  laid  it  on  the  man- 
telpiece, and  turned  to  his  bedroom.  After  undressing 
he  stood  up  in  his  pyjamas  for  a  minute  or  two,  then 
walked  over  to  the  looking-glass,  and  gazed  thoughtfully 
at  the  baldness  above  his  temples.  He  stood  there  for 
another  minute  or  two. 

"  I  don't  care  a  d n,"  he  said  suddenly  and  vio- 
lently, blew  out  the  candle,  and  jumped  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUT  in  the  morning  vitality  is  at  its  lowest  and 
common  sense  has  proportionately   increased. 
The  manager,  pacing  up  and  down  his  dining- 
room  waiting  for  breakfast,  had  lost  his  overnight  look 
of  complacency,  and  each  fresh  contemplation  of  his 
bald  temples  in  the  sideboard  mirror  seemed  to  add  to 
his  uneasiness. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  current  of  his  thought  turned 
to  the  previous  night,  his  features  relaxed. 

"  No,  I've  never  met  a  girl  to  be  compared  with  her," 
he  reflected,  "  straight  and  frank  and  loyal,  and  as 
fresh  as  a  spring  morning.  And  the  eyes  of  her,  and 
the  hair,  and  the  figure.  And  that's  nothing  to  what  it 
will  be  in  five  years'  time. —  Aye,  you  old  fool,"  he  apos- 
trophized himself  — "  and  by  that  time  you'll  be  nearly 
forty-four.  Oh  Lord,  why  didn't  I  meet  the  like  of  her 
ten  years  ago."  His  thoughts  floated  away  in  a  day- 
dream. 

Presently  he  pulled  himself  up  with  a  start. 

"  Now,  Anthony,  my  son,"  he  addressed  himself  seri- 
ously, "  all  this  is  mere  physical  attraction  —  well,  the 
basis  of  it  is.  She  might  be  as  frank  and  as  loyal  and 
as  loving  —  and  gad,  how  she  loves  her  old  father,  and 
how  she  sticks  to  him,  and  how  she'll  love  some  lucky 
fellow,  maybe  Jackson,  some  time  —  but  if  she  weren't 
the  young  Diana  she  is,  how  much  would  you  care? 

"  It  might  be  Jackson  too.  He  has  much  on  his  side, 
youth  and  good  looks,  and  propinquity.  And  the  boy  is 
attracted  by  her.  He  was  first  in  the  field  too.  In 
common  sportsmanship  you  couldn't  enter  against  him, 
niy  dear  Anthony. 

231 


232        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Yes,  you  could,  and  without  any  treachery.  He 
doesn't  really  appreciate  her.  So  far  she's  nothing 
more  to  him  than  a  jolly  girl  comrade.  She  puzzles  him 
nearly  as  much  as  she  attracts  him.  If  he  left  the  town 
to-morrow  he'd  forget  her  for  a  new  flame  in  a  month's 
time.  Look  how  he  wavered  towards  that  commonplace 
little  Miss  Woodburn. 

"But  could  you  cut  him  out?  She  likes  you;  you 
know  she  does.  You've  tried  to  make  her  like  you. 
Could  she  be  brought  to  do  anything  more?  Have  you 
tried  to  bring  her  to  do  anything  more?  And  have  you 
succeeded? 

"  Putting  Jackson  out  of  the  question,  can  you  with- 
draw in  honor  to  somebody  else?  Was  she  content  to 
yield  to  your  kiss  last  night?  You  know  what  value 
she  attaches  to  a  kiss ;  yes,  you  do ;  she  told  you.  Was 
she  willing  to  give  you  the  kiss  and  the  implicit  pledge? 

"  No,"  said  the  manager  violently  to  himself,  "  pre- 
posterous, ridiculous !  I  won't  consider  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, I  wont. 

"  And  look  here,  Anthony,  my  son,"  the  manager 
took  himself  in  hand  seriously,  "  here  you  are  with  a 
comfortable  house,  a  good  job,  a  certain  amount  of 
leisure,  all  the  books  you  are  ever  likely  to  read  — 
though  you'll  buy  more  —  and  plenty  of  time  to  read 
them.  Would  you  be  such  an  infernal  ass  as  to  bring 
in  a  young  Eve  into  this  Paradise  of  yours,  to  drag  you 
off  every  fine  afternoon  to  play  golf  or  tennis,  or  maybe 
—  Lord  knows  —  to  hunt  rats,  and  in  the  winter-time 
to  turn  you  out  of  your  comfortable  arm-chair  that  you 
may  take  her  off  to  a  dance  where  every  young  fellow 
in  the  room  will  be  whirling  her  round  and  you  propped 
up  against  the  wall  looking  at  her  a  deal  oftener  than 
she'll  look  at  you?  You'll  not  be  in  this  little  place  al- 
ways, you  know;  in  fact,  if  you  married  her,  the  Bank 
would  make  a  point  of  moving  you. 

"  Oh,  you  can  dance,  I  know  you  can  and  you  fancy 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        233 

yourself  at  tennis  still,  and  you  were  a  good  cricketer, 
and  can  potter  at  golf.  But  was  your  heart  ever  in 
these  things?  Wasn't  the  quiet  half-hour  among  your 
books  before  you  turned  in  worth  them  all?  And  then 
there's  your  books  themselves.  She's  a  darling  girl,  no 
doubt,  and  not  so  unlettered  as  you  thought.  She  once 
took  up  an  allusion  of  yours  rather  cleverly.  But 
would  she  really  have  the  true  feeling  for  books  — 
your  feeling?  It  is  not  to  be  hoped  for. 

"  You  know  she  would  turn  down  leaves  to  mark  her 
place;  you  know  she  would  lay  open  books  face  down- 
ward on  breakfast  tables,  and  that  a  grease-spot  would 
spoil  the  finest  passage  in  Shakespeare  for  you;  you 
know  she  would  set  hot  teacups  and  damp  flower-cases 
on  your  most  beloved  bindings ;  you  have  seen  her  fatal 
facility  in  marksmanship;  if  she  wished  to  shy  some- 
thing at  the  cat  and  a  book  were  at  hand,  would  she 
pause  to  seek  a  less  hallowed  missile? 

"  And  there  are  your  books  at  your  hand,  arranged  as 
seems  good  to  you  and  —  well,  moderately  unchanging 
in  their  order.  Think  of  dusting  housemaids  and  spring 
cleanings.  A  bachelor  may  blackguard  his  domestics, 
but  a  husband  daren't.  And  your  shelves  are  catholic 
in  their  hospitality.  You  have  no  Chamber  of  Horrors. 
You  have  outgrown  the  prudery  of  your  callow  days. 
There  is  old  Rabelais  jostling  Izaak  Walton,  and  Sterne 
chcek-by-jowl  with  Sir  Thomas  Browne  —  for  all  you 
know  discussing  the  propagation  of  men  and  trees ;  and 
over  there  in  a  corner  the  '  Memoirs  of  de  Grammont ' 
side  by  side  with  *  Grace  Abounding.'  Could  you  ex- 
pect, or  would  you  desire  such  mellow  tolerance  in  a 
wife;  and  if  you  found  it,  for  how  many  years  would 
that  put  off  the  evil  day  when  you  must  have  not  one  but 
a  host  of  skeletons  hidden  in  your  cupboard  from  certain 
young  eyes  ? 

"  Then  there's  another  side  of  it."  The  manager 
took  down  a  handbook  from  the  mantelpiece.  "  Ac- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

cording  to  the  best  insurance  statistics  —  and  insurance 
figures  don't  lie,  whatever  agents  may  do  —  your  ex- 
pectation of  life  is  twenty-eight  years  and  hers  is  forty- 
four.  When  you  die  you'll  leave  a  comparatively  young 
and  fresh  woman  to  drag  out  sixteen  years  in  loneliness, 
that  is  if  she  doesn't  marry  again  —  the  very  thought 
of  which,  my  dear  Anthony,  even  though  the  contingency 
is  twenty-eight  years  away,  is  simply  damnable.  No ; 
your  course  is  clear." 

The  manager  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  room  more  uncertainly  than  one  would 
have  expected  in  the  case  of  a  man  who  had  just  made 
up  his  mind. 

He  came  to  a  stop  on  the  hearthrug,  and  stood  there 
thinking  hard. 

"  Look  here,  Anthony,"  he  apostrophized  himself  with 
decision,  "  maybe  you're  right,  maybe  you're  just  a  self- 
ish, lazy  fellow,  and  don't  want  to  give  up  your  books 
and  your  ease ;  and  maybe  there's  a  trace  of  unselfishness 
and  consideration  for  another  there  too.  But  what  you 
are  going  to  do  is  this :  the  girl  is  in  a  hole,  and  a  bad 
hole ;  and  you  can  get  her  out  of  it  and  leave  her  better 
off  and  delivered  from  all  the  worries  and  temptations  of 
the  hard-up,  especially  the  hard-up  girl.  If  you've  been 
a  little  thoughtless  and  indiscreet,  tJiat  is  your  atone- 
ment; and  when  it's  accomplished  you're  going  to  call 
quits  whether  your  conscience  likes  it  or  not.  No  more 
philandering.  Henceforward  your  attitude  towards 
Miss  Nora  Normanby  is  to  be  strictly  fatherly.  And 
whoever  she  may  marry  in  the  end,  decidedly  Jackson 
must  get  his  chance. 

"  We'll  hope,  my  dear  Anthony,"  continued  the  man- 
ager, as  he  made  his  way  down  the  stairs  with  a  preoc- 
cupied air,  "  that  you  won't  be  exposed  to  anything  very 
special  in  the  way  of  temptation ;  for  a  worse  hand  at 
keeping  resolutions  as  far  as  girls  are  concerned,  I'm 
not  acquainted  with.  And  now,"  he  pulled  himself  to- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       235 

gether  as  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  office  door,  "  to 
hearten  up  the  flagging  Jackson." 

An  opportunity  at  once  presented  itself.  Mr.  Jack- 
son was  leaning  against  his  desk  chuckling  heartily  over 
a  very  dilapidated  document. 

"  I  say,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  read  this.  It's  a  letter  from 
Liza  O'Brien,  one  of  our  billholders." 

The  manager  took  the  letter  from  his  subordinate's 
hand: 

"  DEAR  MR.  JACKSON, —  I  take  up  my  pen  to  write 
you  these  few  lines  on  account  of  our  bill  been  due  on  the 
twenty-ninth.  I  want  you  to  renew  it  for  another 
month  as  we  were  killing  pigs  we  fetched  the  Butcher 
this  last  Monday  and  the  were  all  red  spots  and  he  says 
that  the  will  not  do  to  kill  for  another  fortnight  and  do 
please  the  new  man  will  not  say  a  word  I  am  sure  as  I 
am  laid  up  since  Tuesday  morning  I  have  got  another 
Baby  on  Tuesday  morning  that  is  13  of  them  8  boys  and 
5  girls  I  think  I  have  my  share.  Dear  Mr.  Jackson  I 
hope  your  Mistress  will  never  overtake  me  for  it  is  a 
queer  trial  rearing  a  big  family  and  my  Husband  got  his 
back  renched  lifting  the  chill  plow  anid  has  not  been 
able  to  go  about  since  April  we  never  had  as  bad  crops 
as  long  as  I  mind  and  our  store  cattle  did  not  thrive 
forby  there  was  no  price  for  them  we  hardly  made  the 
grocer's  bill  instead  of  making  fifty  pounds  so  you  can 
fill  the  bill  and  give  it  to  the  wee  boy  and  as  soon  as  ever 
we  kill  the  pigs  I  will  take  you  in  all  I  can  and  please  do 
this  for  me  as  I  am  lying  and  I  will  never  forget  you  for 
it  and  I  will  send  the  bill  to  Mr.  Dickson  and  he  will 
sign  it  and  take  it  up  to  you  and  the  Interest  I  will  de- 
pend on  you  doing  this  much  for  me  as  I  am  in  Bed  and 
can  do  nothing  for  myself  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink  last 
night  just  thinking  about  it  for  fear  of  you  not  been 
able  to  do  it  for  me  I  was  glad  to  hear  of  you  getting 
married  and  getting  such  a  fine  girl  as  you  have  got  I 


236       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

seen  her  often  coming  out  of  her  father's  church  the 
more  she  does  not  know  me  I  wish  you  all  sorts  of  happi- 
ness. I  hope  she  will  never  know  to  do  what  I  have 
to  do. 

"  Respectfully  yours, 

"  LIZA  ANNE  O'BREEN." 

"  You  may  consider  the  bill  renewed,  Jackson,"  said 
the  manager,  handing  back  the  letter.  "  My  heart  isn't 
hard  enough  to  resist  that  appeal.  Where  does  she  live, 
by  the  way  ?  " 

"  About  four  miles  out,  sir,"  answered  Jackson. 

"  So  far?  "  queried  the  manager.  "  Your  little  affair 
of  the  heart  seems  to  have  traveled  pretty  widely.  Liza 
Ann  has  got  it  quite  pat." 

Mr.  Jackson  turned  up  his  cuffs  with  a  rather  gloomy 
air. 

"  My  little  affair  of  the  heart,  as  you  call  it,  sir,  is 
off,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Good  gracious,  why?  "  exclaimed  the  manager  with 
outward  surprise  and  inward  dismay. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  any  chance,"  responded  Jack- 
son, shaking  his  head  disconsolately. 

'*  Why,  whatever  put  that  in  your  head,  my  dear  fel- 
low? "  demanded  the  manager.  "  You  were  as  thick  as 
thieves  last  night  when  you  called  here." 

"  Yes,  but  what  about  later  on,"  asked  Jackson  a  lit- 
tle resentfully.  "  You  know  what  I  mean  quite  well, 
sir." 

"  But,  surely,  my  dear  boy,"  protested  the  manager, 
"  you  don't  mind  an  old  fellow  like  me ?  " 

"  It's  all  right,  sir,"  put  in  Jackson  a  little  ma- 
liciously, "  you  didn't  look  so  devilish  old  when  you  were 
standing  with  your  arm  round  her  last  night.  I  don't 
really  mean  anything,  sir,"  went  on  Jackson,  "  for  of 
course  you're  far  too  old  for  her  " —  the  manager  was 
divided  between  melancholy  and  humor  at  the  pang 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       237 

his  junior's  words  caused  him — •"  but  you  saw  what  I 
got  when  I  tried  it.  My  cheek  is  warm  yet."  And  Mr. 
Jackson  put  his  hand  to  his  face. 

"  Well  now,  Jackson,  my  lad,"  said  the  manager  a 
little  pontifically,  "  you  won't  mind  an  old  campaigner 
like  myself  pointing  out  to  you  that  you  made  rather  an 
error  of  tactics  last  night.  Your  little  caress  was  un- 
doubtedly ill-timed.  The  proper  moment  to  offer  it  was 
not  when  you  were  raising  the  young  lady  up,  but  when 
you  were  letting  her  down  again.  And  there  are  two 
reasons  why  that  is  so.  First  of  all  Miss  Nora  was  des- 
perately anxious  about  her  father,  and  the  successful 
interruption  of  his  speech  had  become  a  matter  only  of 
seconds.  In  the  next  place  you  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered that  until  after  she  had  blown  down  the  gas-pipe 
from  those  healthy  young  lungs  of  hers  there  would  be 
no  diminution  in  the  volume  of  light,  and  that  Amaryllis, 
just  as  much  nowadays  as  in  the  times  of  Mr.  Milton, 
prefers  to  be  sported  with  in  the  shade." 

"  All  the  same,  sir,"  threw  in  Jackson,  "  she  let  you 
put  your  arm  round  her  before  the  light  went  out." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  manager  patiently ;  "  but 
you  don't  understand.  That  was  on  account  of  my  age. 
It  is  one  of  the  melancholy  privileges  of  the  middle-aged, 
my  dear  Jackson,  to  be  able  to  slip  one's  arm  round  a 
pretty  young  girl  without  her  considering  it  a  hug  at  all. 
It  simply  doesn't  count.  You  might  do  it  in  broad 
daylight  and  she  wouldn't  care  a  button.  But  it's  quite 
different  in  your  case.  You  are  a  young  man  and  a 
possible  suitor, and  technically  any  properly  brought  up 
young  maiden  of  a  certain  grade  of  society  is  supposed 
to  be  horrified  if  you  attempt  to  hug  her.  Of  course  it's 
a  convention.  But  in  a  highly  civilized  society  such  as 
ours  conventions  are  necessary.  We  are  all  subject  to 
them,  but  young  girls  particularly  so.  They  drink 
them  in  with  their  mother's  milk.  How  far  the  said 
conventions  conform  to  natural  instincts  I  cannot  say. 


238       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

To  the  lay  mind  these  things  are  puzzling.  For  exam- 
ple, if  you  blundered  into  a  girl's  bedroom  when  she  had 
her  blouse  off  she'd  probably  go  into  hysterics ;  but  the 
same  girl  will  undress  herself  at  least  equally  naked  to 
go  to  a  dance  that  night  and  not  turn  a  hair.  What 
exactly  are  the  natural  feelings  of  a  young  girl  about 
being  hugged  by  a  young  man,  you  and  I,  Mr.  Jackson, 
will  never  find  out  —  I  don't  suppose,  at  this  stage  of 
the  world's  history,  the  girl  could  tell  you  herself;  but 
the  one  safe  and  indisputable  rule  in  these  days  of  our 
civilization  is  that  if  you  are  really  anxious  to  kiss  a 
girl  you  have  a  much  better  chance  in  the  dark." 

At  this  point  in  his  little  address  the  manager  sud- 
denly stopped  short.  There  had  flashed  on  his  memory 
a  certain  half-passionate  scene  and  a  few  faltered  words. 
He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  when  he  re- 
sumed it  was  in  a  much  less  artificial  tone. 

"  I  don't  know,  Jackson,  my  boy,  whether  you'll 
marry  Miss  Nora,  or  whether  you'll  marry  anybody; 
but  it's  my  duty  to  point  out  one  great  disadvantage  of 
bachelorhood  prolonged  too  late.  It  leads  to  coarse- 
ness and  a  habit  of  cheap  cynicism.  You  may  have  ob- 
served it  in  my  case ;  at  any  rate  I  have  observed  it  in 
myself.  Put  what  I  have  just  said  out  of  your  mind. 
If  there  is  a  grain  of  truth  in  it,  at  least  it  does  not  ap- 
ply to  Miss  Nora.  In  the  first  place  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  there's  a  good  deal  more  of  Artemis  than  of 
Aphrodite  in  her  composition  —  (I  suppose  you  haven't 
read  much  classical  mythology;  far  better  not,  it's  a 
waste  of  time  for  a  bank  man,  but  I  can't  well  be  more 
explicit)  —  and  in  the  next  place  she's  much  too  loyal 
and  single-minded  to  give  her  caresses  except  where  she 
has  given  her  heart.  I'll  tell  you  my  frank  opinion  of 
Miss  Nora.  I  think  she's  one  of  the  finest  girls  I  have 
ever  met,  and  that  the  man  who  gets  her  will  be  the  luck- 
iest man  in  Ireland.  There  now ;  that's  the  plain  truth, 
an  article  very  hard  to  obtain  from  a  man  over  thirty- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       239 

five,  especially  if  he's  been  managing  a  bank  for  any 
length  of  time." 

"  I  know  that  what  you  say  about  Nora  is  true,  sir," 
answered  Jackson  with  sincerity.  He  played  with  his 
pen  for  a  second  or  two.  "  The  truth  is,  sir,"  he  said  a 
little  reluctantly,  "  although  I  think  an  awful  lot  of  her, 
I  find  it  very  hard  lately  to  look  at  her  in  that  way  —  I 
mean  in  the  way  of  being  spoony.  She's  the  very  devil 
to  chaff,  sir;  I  wish  you'd  seen  the  ass  she  made  of 
young  de  Bullevant  on  the  sandhills  that  day.  I  don't 
mind  a  fig  about  that,  of  course ;  she  can  make  as  big  a 
fool  of  him  as  she  likes ;  but  she  made  nearly  as  big  a 
fool  of  me  in  the  end;  and  laughed  just  as  much  at  me 
as  at  him.  I  don't  think  there's  very  much  spooniness 
in  Nora,  at  any  rate  for  me.  It's  all  right  what  you 
said  about  kissing  her  in  the  dark,  but  if  she'd  had  any 
fancy  for  me  she  wouldn't  have  near  blackened  my  eye." 

**  *  Perhaps  it  was  right  to  dissemble  your  love, 
But  why  did  you  kick  me  downstairs?  '  " 

quoted  the  manager.  "  Is  that  it,  eh  ?  —  All  the  same  I 
fancy  that  in  the  matter  of  what  you  call  spooniness 
Miss  Nora  is  just  the  same  as  all  other  daughters  of 
Eve."  The  manager's  thought  glanced  back  to  the 
night  before,  but  he  choked  down  the  misgiving  ruth- 
lessly. 

"  Then  there's  another  thing,  sir,"  said  Jackson. 
"  When  I  was  a  bit  soft  on  her  at  first  I  never  thought 
of  the  money  side  of  things  at  all ;  but  when  the  talk  of 
the  fortune  showed  me  what  an  advantage  it  would  be 
for  a  man  in  my  position  to  marry  money,  it  put  me  in 
mind  too  of  how  hard  it  would  be  for  me  to  marry  with- 
out it.  Mind  you  I'm  not  mean,  sir;  but  I  can't  help 
seeing  that  now." 

"  I  don't  think  you're  mean  at  all,  my  dear  Jackson," 
said  the  manager.  "  It's  a  case  of  common  sense,  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

greatest  marriage-marrer  in  the  world.  But  suspend 
your  judgment  —  till  you've  heard  my  little  plan. — • 
Who  the  devil's  this,  Jackson  ?  " 

A  little  bright-eyed  woman  pushed  briskly  through 
the  swing  doors,  and  marched  to  the  manager's  desk  with 
an  air  of  decision,  nodding  to  Mr.  Jackson  as  she  passed 
him. 

"  Mr.  Wildridge,  I  believe  ?  "  she  said  in  a  rather  ex- 
aggeratedly business  manner.  "  Good  morning.  I  am 
Mrs.  Woodburn.  Mr.  Jackson  knows  me.  I  wish  to 
see  you  on  a  private  matter." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  the  manager,  bowing. 
"  Would  you  mind  passing  through  the  door  to  the 
left?"  He  raised  an  interrogatory  eyebrow  to  Jack- 
son as  he  slipped  off  his  stool. 

"  Mrs.  Woodburn,"  whispered  the  cashier  cautiously. 
"  Mother  of  that  pretty  little  Miss  Gertie.  Supposed 
to  have  a  good  income  from  money  her  husband  left  her ; 
but  nobody  knows  how  it's  invested.  Does  her  banking 
in  Belfast.  Decent  little  body ;  fancies  she's  a  devil  of 
a  business  woman;  and  doesn't  know  near  as  much  as 
she  thinks." 

The  manager  nodded  comprehension,  and  passed  into 
his  private  office. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  began  Mrs.  Woodburn  at 
once,  "  I  won't  detain  you.  You're  a  busy  man ;  I'm  a 
busy  woman.  My  errand  is  this :  A  woolen  manufac- 
tory is  about  to  be  started  here ;  doubtless  you've  heard 
of  it.  Well,  the  town  will  boom.  Many  more  people 
will  come  to  live  in  it.  There  will  be  a  great  demand 
for  houses.  I  intend  to  take  a  plot  of  ground  and  build 
—  to  my  own  plans  of  course  —  two  semi-detached  villas 
costing  about  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  I  desire  to  bor- 
row the  money  here." 

"  All  of  it  ?  "  queried  the  manager. 

"  All  of  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Woodburn  with  decision. 
"  My  late  husband,  who  was  no  business  man,  sank  all 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

his  money  in  an  annuity  for  my  benefit,  I  sometimes 
think  out  of  ignorance  of  my  capacity.  Excuse  me 
now ;  I  know  quite  well  what  is  required.  You  will  need 
security.  Very  good,  I  will  give  you  the  lease  of  the 
ground  on  which  the  new  property  will  be  built.  That 
should  be  quite  satisfactory,  I  think?  " 

"  But "  began  the  manager. 

"  Now  please  don't  waste  any  time,  Mr.  Wildridge," 
said  Mrs.  Woodburn.  "  I  know  it  is  usual  for  banks  to 
pretend  a  certain  amount  of  hesitation  in  lending  money. 
But  kindly  spare  me  that.  I  am  a  business  woman. 
The  houses  will  be  quite  good  value  for  eight  hundred 
pounds.  Mr.  Keffey,  our  local  builder,  is  to  put  them 
up  according  to  my  directions,  and  he  says  they  will  cost 
at  least  that  amount.  I  am  sure  you  won't  question  his 
integrity." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the  manager 
smiling,  "  but " 

"  Very  well,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Woodburn  with 
asperity,  "  apart  from  the  situation  —  and  there  would 
be  a  most  delightful  sea-view  from  the  top  bedroom  win- 
dows —  you  would  have  as  security  the  eight  hundred 
pounds'  worth  of  building  material  of  which  they  would 
be  constructed." 

"  Oh,  well  you  know,  Mrs.  Woodburn  " —  the  man- 
ager smiled  even  more  urbanely  — "  you  must  allow  some 
little  amount  for  Mr.  Keffey's  profit." 

"  That  would  be  very  little  indeed,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Woodburn.  "  The  poor  man's  very  hard  up  at  pres- 
ent, and  would  do  the  work  for  me  for  nearly  nothing. 
I  am  giving  the  job  to  him  almost  as  a  charity." 

The  manager's  sense  of  humor  tempted  him  to  dally 
a  little  with  the  situation. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  least  a  builder  would  expect  to  make 
would  be  ten  per  cent,  on  the  total  cost  of  the  buildings," 
he  said.  "  Mr.  Keffey  would  hardly  work  for  less  than 
±hat." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Mrs.  Woodburn  drew  herself  up  sharply,  and  glared 
at  the  manager  in  indignant  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Wildridge,  the  —  the 
cheating  little  wretch  would  have  the  effrontery  to 
charge  me  ten  per  cent?  Ten  per  cent.!  Why  the 
most  the  Government  gives  on  money  is  two  and  a  half, 
and  even  at  that  the  price  of  their  stock  has  gone  down. 
The  little  swindler.  I  will  go  straight  down  to  him  this 
minute  and  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him.  Of  course  you 
won't  mind  my  quoting  you  as  my  authority." 

"  But  Mrs.  Woodburn,  Mrs.  Woodburn,  wait  a  mo- 
ment," exclaimed  the  manager,  hastily  putting  himself 
between  her  and  the  door.  In  the  intervals  of  internal 
self-blasphemy  he  sought  wildly  for  a  colorable  explana- 
tion. "  Er  —  of  course  he  would  have  to  pay  his  work- 
men out  of  that,  which  would  leave  him  practically  noth- 
ing for  himself  —  practically  nothing." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Woodburn  sagely,  seating  herself 
again.  "  You  relieve  my  mind.  I  was  afraid  he  meant 
to  get  the  better  of  me " 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  will  do  that,"  murmured  the 
manager  diplomatically.  "  I  know  I  shouldn't  like  to 
attempt  it." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  difficult,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said 
Mrs.  Woodburn  with  a  gratified  smile.  "  Yes,  I  really 
think  it  would.  But  now,  what  is  the  trouble  about  the 
security?  You  as  good  as  admit  that  my  houses  would 
be  good  security  for  eight  hundred  pounds.  Why  do 
you  demur  to  taking  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Woodburn  drummed 
her  fingers  on  the  table  and  looked  at  the  manager  ex- 
pectantly. 

"  I  will  explain,"  said  the  manager.  "  Just  pardon 
me  a  moment  while  I  arrange  my  thoughts.  Really, 
madam,  you  are  so  keen  that  I  positively  feel  quite 
nervous  before  you.  It's  this  way,"  continued  the  man- 
ager. "  If  you  wished  to  sell  the  houses,  what  with  your 
undoubted  business  capacity  and  your  experience  in 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       243 

building  house  property  you  would  be  able  to  secure  the 
value  of  them,  possibly  indeed  even  more.  No  one  would 
venture  to  attempt  getting  the  better  of  you"  Mrs. 
Woodburn's  features  sensibly  relaxed,  and  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  nodding  slightly. 

"  But  in  the  unlikely,  the  very  unlikely  contingency  of 
the  Bank's  having  to  realize  their  security  —  it  is  a  deli- 
cate subject,  but  as  you  know,  Mrs.  Woodburn,  the  hand 
of  Death  may  not  always  spare  the  most  valuable  mem- 
ber of  your  household.  Of  course  I  am  not  saying  any- 
thing derogatory  to  your  late  husband,  but " 

The  manager  looked  expressively  at  his  customer. 

"  Please  do  not  apologize,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodburn.  "  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  for  my  dear  girl 
that  it  was  my  husband  and  not  I  that  was  taken  away. 
Poor  David  was  a  timid  man  in  money  matters." 

"  Well  then,  Mrs.  Woodburn,  suppose,  as  I  say,  that 
the  Bank  had  to  realize  the  security:  they  would  be 
obliged  to  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands.  As  you  know, 
I  have  practically  no  experience  in  such  affairs;  every 
one  would  be  quite  aware  of  that,  and  as  a  result  any 
prospective  buyer  would  want  a  thief's  penny  of  the 
bargain.  The  property  would  be  sacrificed,  my  dear 
madam,  sacrificed.  I  see  you  agree  with  me,"  continued 
the  manager  hurriedly.  "  Of  course  you  observe  the 
point  at  once.  Now  I  would  suggest  that  you  follow  the 
usual  custom  in  such  cases, which  is,  as  you  are  aware,  to 
support  the  deeds  with  a  Letter  of  Guarantee,  say  of 
some  well-to-do  relative  —  no  doubt  you  have  many  such 
who  would  be  only  too  delighted.  To  you  I  need  hardly 
explain  the  nature  of  a  Letter  of  Guarantee.  IL  simply 
means  that  some  one  makes  himself  or  herself  responsible 
for  the  amount  of  your  debit  here." 

"  I  quite  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Woodburn. 
"  There  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  My  daughter 
will  do  so.  I  may  tell  you,  Mr.  Wildridge,  that  on  her 
coming  of  age  she  becomes  entitled  to  property  bringing 


244       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

in  two  hundred  per  annum.  It  was  left  to  her  by  her 
uncle  Samuel  —  a  dear  man  who  was  ver y  fond  of  me. 
He  died  a  bachelor,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  Mrs.  Wood- 
burn  significantly.  "  A  very  fine  man." 

"  I  yield  to  no  one,  Mrs.  Woodburn,  in  my  admiration 
of  bachelor  uncles,"  said  the  manager  feelingly.  "  May 
I  ask  if  your  daughter  will  soon  be  of  age  ?  " 

"  In  about  two  years,"  answered  her  mother ;  "  but  of 
course  that  does  not  affect  the  case." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  possible,"  said  the  man- 
ager with  deprecation,  "  for  your  daughter  to  make 
herself  legally  responsible  for  the  debt  until  she  came 
of  age." 

Mrs.  Woodburn  again  sat  up  sharply  in  her  chair. 

"  I  am  really  becoming  annoyed  with  you,  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge,"  she  said  indignantly.  "  You  keep  raising  ob- 
jection after  objection.  I  think  you  forget  that  there 
is  another  bank  in  the  town.  You  must  be  quite  well 
aware  that  if  my  daughter  passes  her  word  she  will  make 
it  good  whether  she  is  of  age  or  not.  Kindly  tell  me 
definitely,  are  you  willing  to  lend  me  the  money  ?  " 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  the  manager,  "  I  need  hardly 
tell  you  how  delighted  the  Bank  would  be  to  oblige  you 
in  any  way.  But  the  expenditure  of  eight  hundred 
pounds  is  a  serious  matter,  and  it's  well  to  look  at  it 
from  all  points  of  view.  Now  I  was  greatly  struck  by 
the  very  wise  suggestion  you  made  at  the  beginning  of 
our  interview  that  the  future  of  house  property  in 
Portnamuck  would  almost  entirely  depend  on  the  success 
or  non-success  of  the  woolen  manufactory.  It  was  a 
very  prudent  and  farseeing  view  to  take  —  very.  Of 
course,  as  I  have  stated,  should  you  decide  to  go  on  with 
the  building  at  once,  the  Bank  would  no  doubt  facilitate 
you  in  every  —  er  —  reasonable  way.  But  I  think 
there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for  your  original  deter^ 
mination  to  defer  building  until  you  see  how  the  manu- 
facturing project  shapes.  Then  in  the  event  of  its  not 
proving  a  success  — =" 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       §45 

"  In  your  opinion  it  won't  succeed  ?  "  queried  Mrs. 
Woodburn. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  the  manager  hastily.  ("  Blast 
the  woman,"  he  groaned  to  himself,  "  one  way  or  another 
she'll  ruin  me!")  "On  the  contrary  it  will  probably 
do  well.  But  you  are  very  wise  in  deciding  to  wait  till 
success  is  assured.  I  don't  wish  to  blarney  you,  Mrs. 
Woodburn,  but  candidly  you  show  a  degree  of  judgment 
that  I  wish  I  could  always  emulate." 

"  How  long  do  you  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  wait, 
Mr.  Wildridge  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Woodburn.  She  had 
abated  nothing  of  her  curt  business  manner,  but  the 
manager  read  gratification  in  every  lineament  of  her 
face. 

"  I  would  suggest  about  —  yes,  about  two  years," 
said  the  manager.  "  That  will  allow  a  year  for  building 
the  factory,  and  a  year  to  give  it  a  fair  trial.  And  in 
the  meantime  you  will  probably  find  it  much  more  con- 
venient to  do  your  banking  business  here  than  in  Belfast. 
I  would  suggest  that  you  transfer  your  account  to  us. 
You  are  practically  a  client  of  the  Bank  as  it  is. —  Oh, 
certainly,  Mrs.  Woodburn.  By  all  means  think  it  over. 
I  have  seen  too  much  of  your  business  acuteness  to  at- 
tempt to  rush  you  in  any  way.  Good  day,  Mrs.  Wood- 
burn,  good  day."  The  manager  opened  the  door  for 
her.  "  Don't  be  surprised  if  I  call  down  for  your  ad- 
vice the  first  time  I  encounter  a  knotty  problem.  Good 
day." 

"  I  wonder  now,"  said  the  manager  to  the  closed  door, 
"  was  the  late  Mr.  Woodburn  as  ignorant  of  his  wife's 
business  capacity  as  she  thinks  ?  But  I  must  tell  Jack- 
son about  the  little  daughter's  two  hundred  a  year." 
Then  he  paused  in  thought,  with  wrinkled  brows. 
"  Begad,  after  all,  I  won't,"  he  murmured,  and  re- 
entered  the  office  slowly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IN  the  office  the  manager  found  Michael  Brannegan, 
Mr.  Finnegan,  and  the  seedsman  in  possession  ;  and 
the  greater  part  of  his  morning  was  consumed  in 
making  arrangements  for  receiving  applications  for 
shares,  Mr.  Finnegan  proving  little  less  dilatory  than 
on  the  platform. 

He  found  the  three  very  optimistic  about  the  success 
of  the  flotation,  the  natural  melancholy  of  the  seedsman 
being  temporarily  dispersed  by  a  comfortable  sense  that 
Mr.  Normanby's  generosity  had  relieved  the  promoters 
from  the  weight  of  the  responsibility.  In  the  matter  of 
taking  shares,  however,  they  proved  decidedly  cautious. 
Mr.  Finnegan,  while  professing  every  confidence  in  the 
future  of  the  company,  said  that  in  the  interests  of  his 
wife,  Mrs.  Finnegan,  he  thought  it  better  not  to  involve 
himself  too  deeply  until  the  project  was,  so  to  speak,  out 
of  the  deep  waters  of  danger  into  the  shallows  of  pros- 
perity. In  the  meantime  he  would  apply  for  one  hun- 
dred shares.  Michael,  for  the  first  time,  probably,  in 
his  life,  followed  Mr.  Finnegan;  and  the  seedsman 
thought  that  for  a  man  in  his  position,  with  his  business 
exposed  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of  an  abominable  climate, 
fifty  shares  would  be  ample.  To  the  manager's  sugges- 
tion that  it  would  be  better  to  give  the  public  more  of  a 
lead  Michael  was  as  usual  terse. 

"  If  the  public  comes  in,"  said  Michael,  "  and  the  thing 
is  going  to  do,  we  can  come  in  when  we  like  and  allot  our- 
selves what  we  like.  If  they  won't  take  the  risk  we'll  be 
d d  if  we  take  it.  D'ye  see  now,  Mr.  Manager  ?  " 

"  And  if  the  public  evince  any,  shall  I  say  trepidation, 
246 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

about  taking  shares,  no  doubt  Mr.  Normanby  will  step 
still  further,  as  it  were,  into  the  breach,  being  now  what," 
said  Mr.  Finnegan,  "  I  might  venture  to  call  a  pluto- 
crat." 

"I  wish  to  goodness  the  company  could  float  and 
burst,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  fervently  after  they  had  gone, 
"  if  it  was  only  to  stick  that  old  blathering  humbug.  If 
he  just  knew  the  extent  of  poor  old  Mr.  Normanby 's 
plutocracy  he'd  turn  a  few  shades  yellower  than  he  is. 
But  I  say,  sir,  have  you  thought  out  anything  about 
what  we'll  do  ?  I  hadn't  an  hour's  sleep  last  night  over 
it.  Bad  luck  to  it  anyway.  Here  we've  got  the  ac- 
count after  the  devil's  own  trouble ;  and  the  show's  going 
to  be  a  frost.  Nothing  in  this  world  turns  out  as  well 
as  you  expect." 

"  And  nothing  turns  out  as  badly  as  you  expect," 
said  the  manager.  "  Keep  up  your  heart,  Jackson,  my 
lad ;  we'll  win  through  yet.  It's  not  as  bad  yet  as  " — 
the  manager  reflected,  " —  as  a  bad  marriage,"  he  con- 
cluded with  a  whimsical  grimace  for  his  own  benefit. 
"  Leave  the  whole  job  in  my  hands.  If  I  don't  save  the 
situation,  float  the  company,  and  redeem  Mr.  Norman- 
by's  credit,  I'll  —  I'll  marry  his  daughter,"  he  con- 
cluded inaudibly. 

He  slipped  off  his  stool  suddenly,  and  took  a  few  rapid 
turns  up  and  down  the  office  floor. 

"  And  begad  that's  the  solution  of  my  difficulty,"  he 
reflected  with  elation.  "  Now,  my  dear  conscience,  I 
refuse  to  hear  another  word  from  you.  I'm  throwing 
you  an  ample  sop.  You  may  consider  the  debate  closed. 
And,  Anthony,  my  boy,  put  your  wits  to  work.  Free- 
dom is  the  goal,  freedom,  and  your  books,  and  your 
scribbling,  and  an  easy  life  —  and  a  self-indulgent  one, 
eh?  —  Of  all  the  blasted  consciences!"  declared  the 
manager  to  himself  in  disgusted  appeal,  "  I  tell  you  I've 
made  up  my  mind,  and  I'll  hear  no  more.  And  the  van- 
ity of  you,  too.  A  girl  of  eighteen,  and  you  twenty 


248       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

years  older.  If  she  thought  about  you  at  all  it  was  to 
laugh  at  you  for  an  old  ass.  Not  another  word  now ! 

"  Jackson,"  he  said,  climbing  upon  his  stool  again, 
"  send  a  note  to  Miss  Nora  that  we'll  meet  her  at  the 
Rectory  gate  to-night  at  half-past  seven.  I'll  turn  up 
there,  and  you  can  come  round  from  your  diggings. 
And  you  might  put  in  that  I  —  that  we  can  see  a  way 
through  the  difficulty.  No  use  letting  her  worry  that 
pretty  face  of  hers  into  wrinkles. —  Now  to  work.  That 
old  scoundrel,  Finnegan,  has  kept  me  back  two  hours." 

The  manager's  detachment  from  himself  enabled  him 
to  comment  somewhat  acidly  on  the  fact  that  he  was 
within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  of  the  Rectory  gate  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time  appointed;  and  he 
was  further  annoyed  to  observe  that  his  heart  began  to 
beat  a  little  more  quickly  when  he  saw  Miss  Normanby 
standing  just  inside  her  own  grounds. 

"  It's  all  very  fine,  Anthony,"  he  ventured ;  "  but 
there  are  elements  of  awkwardness  about  this  meeting. 
We're  all  right  if  she  doesn't  blush." 

She  did  not  blush.  There  was  a  certain  soft  bright- 
ness in  her  eyes  that  he  had  never  noticed  before ;  but  he 
refused  to  consider  anything  but  the  esthetic  side  of 
that  matter,  and  found  it  sufficiently  absorbing. 

"  Hallo,  Nora,"  he  said ;  and  if  the  tone  was  fatherly 
it  was  that  of  an  affectionate  parent. 

"  Hallo,"  returned  Miss  Nora  softly.  The  manager 
did  not  take  her  hand,  nor  did  she  seem  to  expect  it. 
Without  words  spoken  the  pair  began  to  walk  slowly  up 
the  path  together ;  and  when  Nora  slipped  her  arm  into 
his  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  the  manager's  conscience 
might  as  well  have  been  in  Kamchatka. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came  early,"  said  Nora ;  "  I  hoped  you 
would.  Let's  go  on  into  the  house.  I'll  send  down  the 
maid  to  meet  Jacks." 

"  But  what  about  your  father  ?  "  asked  the  manager, 
checking  his  step. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       249 

"  Poor  Dad's  in  bed.  He  caught  more  cold  at  the 
meeting,  and  his  old  pipes  are  as  bad  as  ever.  It  won't 
be  necessary  to  tell  him,  will  it?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 
"  I  know  you've  got  a  plan,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  tell 
me  till  you're  ready ;  but  I  do  hope  it  doesn't  mean  that 
we've  to  tell  Dad  yet  a  bit." 

"  It  doesn't  then,"  said  the  manager.  "  We'll  have 
to  tell  him  some  time.  I  can't  save  him  from  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  fortune  is  a  myth ;  but  I  think  I  can  save 
him  from  humiliation  over  his  offer  last  night,  and  that's 
something." 

"  It's  everything,"  affirmed  Miss  Nora.  "  Dad 
doesn't  care  a  fig  about  money  except  to  give  it  to  other 
people ;  and  if  we  have  to  want  they'll  jolly  well  have  to 
want  too." 

"  He  won't  bother  in  the  meantime  about  the  money 
not  turning  up  ?  "  queried  the  manager.  "  That  would 
be  awkward,  you  know." 

"  Dad  won't  bother,"  said  Miss  Nora.  "  I  told  him  I 
was  looking  after  it;  and  he  trusts  me  just  the  way  I 
trust  you." 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  sentiment  in  the  manner  she 
said  it;  just  the  quiet  confidence  that  the  words  implied. 
The  manager  smote  his  conscience  violently  over  the 
head,  and  set  down  the  speech  to  the  credit  of  his  status 
as  a  banker. 

When  he  went  into  the  drawing-room  his  glance 
traveled  rapidly  over  the  bookcase,  and  from  that  to  a 
volume  lying  on  the  table. 

"  Have  you  been  reading?  "  he  asked.  Then,  as  she 
nodded,  "  I  see  you  use  a  bookmark." 

"  That's  Dad,"  said  Miss  Nora.  "  He  hates  to  see  a 
leaf  turned  down,  and  he's  trained  me  till  I'm  nearly  as 
faddy  as  himself." 

The  manager's  bosom  glowed.  "  May  I  look  at  the 
book?  "  he  asked.  "  You're  sure  you  don't  mind?  "  he 
added,  noticing  an  involuntary  movement  of  refusal. 


250       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Nora ;  "  I  don't  mind  your  seeing. 
It's  *  Humphrey  Clinker  ' —  are  you  shocked  ?  " 

"  Not  a  shock,"  said  the  manager.  "  I'd  been  far 
more  shocked  if  I'd  found  you  reading  a  sentimental 
novel." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Nora  with  relief.  "  I  was 
sure  you  weren't  that  kind  of  person ;  but  there's  always 
a  risk.  Look  here,"  she  burst  out  frankly,  "  I'd  better 
get  it  all  off  my  chest  at  once,  and  then  you'll  know  the 
best  and  worst  of  me.  I've  read  Shakespeare,  and  a  bit 
of  Ben  Jonson,  and  some  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  a 
little  Smollett,  and  nearly  all  Fielding,  and  —  and  dear 
knows  what.  I've  read  lots  of  other  books  of  course; 
but  I  mean  I've  read  those  as  well.  Dad  knows,  mind. 
He  said  he  didn't  think  it  would  do  me  a  bit  of  harm; 
and  I  don't  think  it  has  either.  And  look  here  " —  Miss 
Nora  turned  pink  and  finished  with  a  rush  — "  if  I've 
read  all  those  books  I'm  nineteen  and  nobody's  ever 
kissed  me  yet.  You  know  " —  the  pink  turned  to  furi- 
ous scarlet  — "  I  told  you  last  night." 

"  I  don't  care  a  d n  if  I  was  fifty,"  cried  the  man- 
ager to  himself.  "  Nora,"  he  said  aloud,  and  stepped 
towards  her. 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Mr. 
Jackson  entered  the  room.  As  he  turned  sharply  to- 
wards the  sound  the  manager's  eye  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  the  three  of  them  mirrored  in  a  pier-glass  on 
the  wall.  In  a  lightning-flash  of  disillusionment  he  rec- 
ognized a  budding  youth  and  maiden,  and  a  man  verging 
on  middle  age.  Before  Jackson  had  finished  his  greet- 
ing common  sense  had  resumed  its  cold  sway  over  the 
manager's  brain. 

"  Now,  children,"  he  said  briskly,  "  here  we  are  all 
together.  Let's  sit  down  and  I'll  unfold  my  Machiavel- 
lian schemes."  He  noticed  Mr.  Jackson's  stare  at  the 
word,  but  determinedly  looked  away  from  Miss  Nora. 
"  First  of  all,  Nora,  we  must  get  your  father  out  of  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        251 

hole  he  has  unwittingly  got  himself  into.  Now,  here's 
the  position.  The  capital  of  the  company  is  fixed  at 
twenty  thousand  pounds.  We  are  to  go  to  allotment 
four  weeks  hence  —  you  can  explain  this  later  to  Miss 
Nora,  Jackson  —  but  only  if  the  whole  sum  has  been 
subscribed  for.  That  is  the  decision  of  the  directors. 
Now  of  that  twenty  thousand  Mr.  Normanby  has  prom- 
ised to  take  up  ten  thousand,  and  as  things  have  turned 
out  he  will  not  be  able  to  do  that." 

"  He  won't  be  able  to  take  any  of  it,  Mr.  Wildridge," 
said  Miss  Nora.  "  There's  no  use  making  any  bones 
about  it ;  we're  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey." 

"  All  right,  Nora,"  said  the  manager,  "  we'll  assume 
that  the  financial  position  of  that  estimable  fowl  was 
pretty  bad,  and  that  your  father  will  take  no  shares. 
But  he  has  possibilities  too.  Am  I  right  in  saying  that 
the  ground  the  old  stocking  factory  stands  on  is  your 
father's,  but  that  Mr.  de  Bullevant  won't  give  him  a 
proper  deed  of  it?  " 

"  That's  quite  right,"  answered  Nora ;  "  old  de  Bulle- 
vant's  a  pig." 

"  And  Mr.  Percy  has  been  paying  you  some  attentions 
lately?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Nora,  "  since  he  heard  I  was  going  to  be 
rich." 

"  Well,"  said  the  manager,  "  while  he's  still  under 
that  pleasant  delusion  I  fancy  his  father  would  be  much 
easier  approached  about  a  deed.  Would  you  have  any 
scruples  of  conscience  or  delicacy  about  trying  it  now? 
I  know  it  would  hardly  be  playing  the  game  in  ordinary 
circumstances,  but  I  think  you  would  be  quite  justified 
as  the  case  stands." 

Miss  Nora  glanced  momentarily  at  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  So  it  was  Mr.  Wildridge's  notion  then,"  she  thought. 

"  I  have  a  scruple,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Percy's 
played  it  very  low  down  on  me,  not  speaking  to  me  for 
years  after  we'd  romped  together  as  kids,  and  then 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

coming  messing  around  when  he  thought  I  was  an  heiress. 
I'd  nearly  have  married  him  just  for  the  sell  he'd  have 
got." 

"  That's  settled  then,"  said  the  manager.  "  If  friend 
Percy  has  an  eye  in  his  head  at  all  the  deed  is  as  good  as 
granted.  Now  with  the  old  walls  of  the  factory  and  of 
the  workmen's  cottages,  that  bit  of  ground  is  worth  at 
least  two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds  as  a  site  for  the 
new  factory ;  and  they've  got  to  buy  it  —  I'll  see  to  that. 
And  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  your  father  can 
take  it  out  in  shares." 

"  But  what  about  all  the  rest  he  has  promised,  sir?  " 
asked  Mr.  Jackson,  who  began  to  feel  himself  too  silent 
a  partner  in  the  proceedings. 

"  You  dry  up,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora,  "  and  don't  be 
doing  the  old  croaking  raven.  Go  on  please,  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge." 

"  If  we  suppose  the  deed  granted  we  have  secured 
solid  advantages.  In  the  first  place  Mr.  Percy  might 
marry  you,  Nora,"  said  the  manager,  "  just  to  get  the 
property  back  into  the  family  " —  Miss  Nora  made  a 
little  face  — "  and  in  the  next,  your  father  would  be 
worth  a  comfortable  sum  of  money.  But  I  take  it  that 
unless  we  clear  him  of  his  promise  we  have  failed." 

"  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  Nora,  a  little  unsteadily,  "  if 
Dad  has  to  break  his  public  promise  —  it'll  —  it'll  kill 
him,  that's  all."  She  turned  away  her  head  and  groped 
furtively  for  her  handkerchief.  "  I'm  an  awful  baby," 
she  said  in  a  muffled  voice ;  "  but  don't  laugh  at  me, 
please." 

"  All  right,  Nora  girl,"  said  the  manager ;  "  keep  up 
your  pecker.  With  the  help  of  Mr.  Jackson  here  I'll 
pull  him  through.  And  I'll  tell  you  how  it's  going  to  be 
done.  The  town  of  Portnamuck  and  the  neighborhood 
thereof  are  going  to  subscribe  every  penny  of  that  capi- 
tal ;  and  if  they  aren't  ungrateful  enough  then  to  resent 
your  father's  wishing  to  take  a  single  share,  I've  not 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       253 

been  living  in  this  world  for  —  for  a  good  many 
years " 

"  I  don't  see  where  all  that  money's  to  come  from  out 
of  this  district,"  said  Jackson,  shaking  his  head,  "  even 
if  they  had  it  they  wouldn't  part." 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  cried  Miss  Nora  angrily,  "  you 
stop  doing  the  snivelling  old  Jeremiah  or  I'll  punch  your 
head.  All  the  same,  Mr.  Wildridge,  I  don't  know  how 
it'll  be  done." 

"  That's  just  like  you,  Nora,"  said  Jackson  in  ag- 
grieved tones,  "  you  go  for  me,  and  then  turn  round  and 
say  the  same  thing  yourself." 

"  Don't  squabble  now,  children,"  said  the  manager, 
"  I  think  it  can  be  done.  But  not  without  an  ally  in 
the  enemies'  camp.  That  ally  I  think  I  have  secured. — 
Do  you  really  trust  me,  Nora  ?  "  asked  the  manager 
suddenly. 

"  I  trust  you,"  answered  Nora ;  and  the  natural  man 
was  satisfied  with  her  look,  though  the  conscience  sus- 
tained a  jar. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  manager,  "  I  went  round  to 
Denis  O'Flaherty  this  afternoon  and  told  him  the  whole 
story." 

"  Denis  O'Flaherty,"  cried  Mr.  Jackson,  aghast. 
"  He'll  have  it  all  over  the  town !  " 

"  He  won't,"  said  the  manager  to  Nora's  startled 
glance.  "  If  I  hadn't  been  sure  I  know  my  man  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  risk.  Now  Denis  and  I  have 
gone  carefully  into  the  matter,  and  we've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  money  can  be  raised.  But  before  I 
go  on,  I  feel  it  due  to  Denis  to  tell  you  that  out  of  sheer 
admiration  for  a  certain  young  lady  in  this  town  he's 
coming  round  to  the  Bank  to-morrow  to  subscribe  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds'  worth  of  shares  in  spite 
of  what  I  told  him." 

"  Denis  is  a  real  trump,"  said  Miss  Nora,  her  eyes 
shining.  "  But  I'm  surprised  at  him  though.  It's  no. 


254        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

time  since  I  abused  him  like  a  pickpocket  in  his  own 
forge.  And  I  nearly  broke  his  leg  with  a  stone  that  day 
Johnny  got  on  the  jamboree." 

"  It's  not  a  bit  surprising,"  said  the  manager.  "  If  I 
had  a  head  of  yellow  curls  the  deposits  of  the  Bank 
would  go  up  to  a  million.  But  we're  digressing,"  he 
went  on  hastily.  "  Now  Denis  and  I  are  going  to  try 
the  district  in  two  ways.  First  of  all  we're  going  to 
work  the  patriotic  dodge,  of  course  in  as  underground 
a  manner  as  possible.  We're  going  to  approach  all  the 
parties  in  the  neighborhood.  Nationalists  and  Union- 
ists, Sinn  Feiners  and  Orangemen,  and  to  show  them 
that  with  the  foundation  of  the  woolen  factory  a  new 
era  will  dawn  in  Ireland;  that  poverty  will  pass  away 
from  our  island,  particularly  from  the  town  of  Portna- 
muck  and  the  adjoining  parts ;  that  a  gold  rain  of  pros- 
perity will  descend  on  our  beloved  country,  particularly 
on  the  town  of  Portnamuck  and  the  adjoining  parts,  and 
still  more  especially  on  those  of  the  inhabitants  who  have 
taken  up  shares  in  the  company;  that  each  particular 
party  will  enjoy  these  benefits  to  the  total  exclusion  of 
all  the  others ;  and  that  the  whole  miracle  will  be  ac- 
complished by  outsiders  who  will  do  all  the  work  and 
won't  expect  any  of  the  profits. — Stand  back  from 
me,  children,"  said  the  manager,  rising  to  his  feet,  "  I'm 
going  to  make  a  speech. 

"  And  if  this  plan  fails,  do  you  think  we  mean  to  throw 
up  the  sponge?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  There  is  still  the 
trump  card  to  play.  We  will  make  use  of  that  out- 
standing national  characteristic  which  has  redeemed  our 
annals  from  monotony,  which  has  raised  us  to  a  unique 
position  among  the  peoples  of  the  earth;  that  great 
principle  of  mutual  mistrust  and  jealousy  which  is  the 
root  of  all  progress  and  morality  and  civic  virtue  in  our 
country,  which  makes  men  work  like  —  like  —  blazes  — 
thank  you,  Nora  —  and  believe  in  themselves,  not  he- 
pause  they  want  to  do  it,  but  in  order  to  spite  their 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       255 

neighbors.  Fall  on  my  neck  and  weep,  Nora  darlin'," 
cried  the  manager,  "  while  the  weight  of  years  is  tempo- 
rarily lifted  from  me.  Begad  it's  a  political  orator  I 
should  have  been;  I'm  lost  in  a  Bank.  You'd  never 
think  I  was  such  an  old  ass,"  said  the  manager  apolo- 
getically, sitting  down  again.  "  But  I've  been  a  bit 
worried  to-day  and  I  had  to  blow  off  steam.  To  be  se- 
rious, children,  Denis  and  I  are  prepared  to  set  the 
whole  neighborhood  by  the  ears  to  get  that  money ;  and 
we  think  we  can  do  it.  But,  Jackson,  my  boy,  you'll 
have  to  put  your  back  into  it  too ;  and,  Nora,  anything 
that  two  blue  eyes  can  accomplish  —  and  that's  more 
than  you're  aware  of  —  you  must  work  on  every  mon- 
eyed man  in  the  neighborhood  under  —  under  ninety,  by 
George.  Is  it  a  bargain,  children?" 

Miss  Nora  nodded  firmly.  "  It's  a  bargain.  Where 
Dad's  concerned  I've  no  conscience  at  all." 

"  And  Nora  knows  she  can  depend  on  me  to  do  my 
best  for  her,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  Isn't  that  so, 
Nora?" 

"  That's  right,  Jacks,"  answered  Nora  warmly.  "  I 
know  you'll  fight  for  an  old  pal." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  the  cashier.  The 
manager  was  acutely  conscious  of  the  interval  before  the 
hands  fell  apart. 

"  There  now,  you  silly  fool  " —  he  apostrophized  the 
inner  Mr.  Wildridge  — "  you've  been  worrying  yourself 
these  last  twenty-four  hours,  and  probably  Jackson's 
the  man  after  all."  But  when  the  inner  Anthony  re- 
joined that  the  manager  didn't  really  believe  it,  and  that 
all  the  incident  showed  was  that  he  was  still  less  de- 
tached in  his  attitude  to  Nora  than  he  had  been  aware, 
the  manager  turned  from  the  subject  at  once.  "  At 
any  rate,"  he  said  testily  to  his  inconvenient  monitor, 
"  Jackson  and  she  are  warm  enough  friends  for  all  to 
go  right  if  I  only  keep  out  of  the  way." 

"  Now,  children,"  said  the  manager  aloud,  "  there's 


256        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

another  very  important  point  to  be  considered.  Could 
we  possibly  induce  the  railway  company  to  extend  their 
line  to  Portnamuck?  If  we  could  manage  that  it  would 
secure  not  only  the  success  of  the  flotation,  but  the 
success  of  the  woolen  factory ;  and  if  we  have  any  sense 
of  decency  at  all  it's  up  to  us  to  try  for  both.  Come 
now ;  who  can  do  something  to  bring  the  railway  to  the 
town?  " 

"  I  can,"  cried  Miss  Nora,  clapping  her  hands.  "  I 
can  cadge  an  invitation  up  to  Belfast  to  stay  with  an  old 
uncle  —  mother's  brother ;  and  his  eldest  son  is  secre- 
tary of  the  railway  company,  and  will  do  nearly  any- 
thing for  me." 

"  Is  he  single,  Nora  ?  "  asked  the  manager. 

"  M-m,  m-m,"  Miss  Nora  nodded.  "  But  there's 
nothing  of  that  kind  in  it.  He  just  likes  me.  He's  not 
young,  you  know." 

The  manager  winced. 

"  How  old  is  he,"  he  asked,  turning  the  knife  in  his 
wound.  "  As  old  as  I  am?  " 

"  Oh,  good  gracious,  far  older,"  said  Nora,  wide- 
eyed  ;  "  why  he's  quite  middle-aged !  " 

"  It's  a  blessing  Jackson's  here,"  said  the  manager  to 
himself,  "  or  the  course  of  my  whole  future  life  was 
settled  by  that  speech. —  You  never  can  tell  what  no- 
tions might  come  into  a  middle-aged  man's  head,  Nora," 
he  observed.  "  But,  anyhow,  you  think  you  can  man- 
age him  ?  " 

"  I  can  turn  him  round  my  little  finger,"  said  Nora 
confidently.  "  You  leave  him  to  me." 

"  That's  two  you  have  to  fascinate  now,"  said  the 
manager  with  gravity,  "  Mr.  Percy  and  the  secretary. 
I  don't  see,  Nora,  how  you're  to  keep  out  of  the  Breach 
of  Promise  Court  over  this  business." 

Miss  Nora  made  her  little  grimace. 

"  The  question  is,  can  I  leave  Dad  at  present?  He's 
pretty  rotten,  you  know,"  she  said  with  a  serious  air. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       257 

"  You'll  have  to  do  it,  Nora,  I'm  afraid,"  said  the 
manager ;  "  that  is  if  it's  possible  at  all." 

"How  long  will  you  be  away,  Nora?"  asked  Mr. 
Jackson.  "  Sure  your  old  housekeeper  could  look  after 
him.  She's  been  here  all  her  life." 

"  I  know,  Jacks,"  said  Miss  Nora  absently ;  "  but  I'd 
feel  horrid  about  leaving  him.  If  I  must,  though,  I 
must.  Mind,  you'll  have  to  coach  me  up  in  all  sorts  of 
arguments  before  I  go." 

"  I  suppose  arguments  will  be  necessary,"  admitted 
the  manager.  "  There  are  the  directors  to  be  thought 
of ;  and  they'd  hardly  let  you  into  a  board  meeting.  As 
far  as  the  secretary  is  concerned,  if  you'll  only  lay  your- 
self out  for  him  he's  yours  without  any  arguments." 

"  Oh,  I'll  lay  myself  out  for  him  all  right,"  said  Nora. 
"  I  told  you  my  conscience  is  away  from  home. —  Do 
you  know  " —  a  little  consciously  — "  I'm  thinking  of 
putting  up  my  hair." 

"  It's  a  capital  notion,"  cried  the  manager  with 
enthusiasm.  "And,  good  Lord,  now,"  he  communed 
with  himself,  "  if  I  could  only  get  mine  to  grow,  it 
wouldn't  look  such  a  ridiculous  business  between  us 
then."  He  thought  of  the  dozen  bottles  on  his  dressing- 
room  shelf,  and  put  another  dream  behind  him. 

"  I  say,  Nora,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jackson,  "  stick  it  up 
now,  and  let's  see  what  you'd  look  like." 

Miss  Nora  hesitated. 

"  Shall  I?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  the  manager. 

The  manager  inhaled  the  incense  of  her  submissive- 
ness. 

"  Do,  Nora  girl,"  he  said,  and  forgot  the  paternal  ac- 
cent. "  I'd  love  to  see  you." 

"  Wait  a  minute  then,"  said  Miss  Nora,  rising.  "  I 
wouldn't  like  to  do  it  here." 

A  moment  later  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  in  that 
moment  the  tomboy  was  no  more.  The  manager  marked 
the  straight  young  figure,  the  proud  little  head  poised 


258        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

with  new  dignity  on  the  revealed  beauty  of  the  slender 
neck,  the  golden  diadem  of  curls,  and,  beneath,  the 
virgin  modesty  of  the  clouded  eyes.  The  man  and  the 
artist  rejoiced  within  him. 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  stretched  out  his  hands 
to  her: 

"  '  I  supplicate  thee,  O  queen,'  "  he  quoted,  "  '  whether 
thou  art  a  goddess  or  a  mortal!  If  indeed  thou  art  a 
goddess  of  them  that  keep  the  wide  heaven,  to  Artemis, 
then,  the  daughter  of  great  Zeus,  I  mainly  liken  thee,  for 
beauty  and  stature  and  shapeliness.  But  if  thou  art 
one  of  the  daughters  of  men  who  dwell  on  earth,  thrice 
blessed  '  " —  the  manager's  brain  ran  on  half  a  dozen 
lines,  and  in  a  flash  he  recovered  himself  — "  is  the  secre- 
tary on  whom  thou  shalt  prevail  with  thy  beauty,  and 
who  shall  lead  the  Ulidian  Railway  to  the  town  of  Port- 
namuck." 

"  It's  a  bad  omen,"  said  Miss  Nora,  with  a  little 
twinkle ;  "  for  if  you  remember,  Nausicaa  had  to  return 
home  in  a  cart. —  But  will  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do?  "  exclaimed  the  manager,  stepping  to  meet  her. 
"  The  secretary  is  delivered  into  your  hands.  But  is  it 
secure,"  he  asked,  looking  dubiously  at  the  piled-up 
curls. 

"  Feel,"  said  Nora,  bowing  her  head. 

The  manager  laid  a  hand  on  the  clustering  curls,  and 
felt  shy  for  the  first  time  for  fifteen  years. 

"  It  seems  all  right,  Nora,"  he  said,  a  little  uncer- 
tainly. 

"  Let  me  feel,  Nora,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 

Miss  Nora  stepped  back. 

"  Listen,"  she  said ;  "  I  think  I  hear  Dad."  She  ran 
to  the  door  and  called  softly,  "  Daddy,  Dad-dee !  " 

And  at  the  childish  words  and  the  childish  accent  a 
revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  the  manager. 

"  It's  not  Dad,"  said  Miss  Nora,  closing  the  door  and 
coming  back  into  the  room. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       259 

"  Listen,  Nora  lassie,"  said  the  manager.  "  Be 
hanged  to  the  secretary.  Tumble  all  those  curls  down, 
and  be  a  child  again.  There's  care,  and  worry,  and  dis- 
illusion, and  heavy  hearts  for  big  girls  when  they  grow 
up.  Don't  grow  up  yet  awhile." 

"  It's  too  late,"  said  Miss  Nora  shaking  her  head 
softly.  "  I  guess  I'm  grown  up  now. 

"  It  was  just  a  lovely  compliment  you  paid  me,"  she 
whispered  to  the  manager  as  they  passed  through  the 
hall.  "  But  " —  a  little  sparkle  of  mischief  gleamed 
momentarily  in  her  eyes  — "  I've  read  some  of  Sien- 
kiewicz  too." 

"  I'll  be  hanged,"  said  the  manager  to  himself  as  he 
stalked  home  moodily  beside  Mr.  Jackson,  who  respected 
his  silence  as  being  doubtless  due  to  profound  thought 
about  the  woolen  factory.  "  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  see  why 
a  man  should  be  burdened  with  a  Conscience  like  mine. 
And  then  I've  Common  Sense  to  contend  with,  that's 
worth  a  dozen  consciences.  But  where  does  the  natural 
Anthony  come  in?  Is  he  not  to  be  considered?  For 
she's  a  darling  girl. —  And  did  you  hear  her  capping  my 
tag  of  Homer  —  and  spotting  my  little  plagiarism  ? 
Oh,  Anthony,  Anthony 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  thought  suddenly,  "  I  must  hurry 
home  at  once.  What  a  heavenly  frame  of  mind  I'm  in 
for  translating  the  first  Ode  of  the  Fourth  Book. — 
Good  night,  Jackson,  my  boy." 

The  manager  ran  up  the  steps  to  his  hall  door,  in- 
serted his  latchkey  in  the  lock,  drew  it  out,  wrestled  with 
himself  violently  for  a  few  seconds,  and  ran  down  the 
steps  again. 

"  Jackson,"  he  called,  "  Jackson." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  cashier,  turning  back. 

"  Just  a  moment,"  said  the  manager  hurriedly.  "  I 
clean  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Woodburn  let  out  this 
morning  that  that  pretty  little  daughter  of  hers  comes 


260        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

into  two  hundred  a  year  when  she's  of  age.  Good 
night." 

"  By  Jove,"  remarked  Jackson  thoughtfully  as  he 
walked  up  the  street. 

The  manager  closed  the  hall  door  and  stood  for  a 
moment  in  deep  meditation.  Then  he  suddenly  dashed 
his  hat  on  the  floor,  kicked  it  round  the  hall  several 
times,  and  after  restoring  its  shape  and  dusting  it  a  little 
made  his  way  slowly  up  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

NOW,    Jackson,    my   lad,"    said   the   manager 
next  morning,  "  we've  got  a  big  task  before 
us  these  next  few  weeks,  and  we  must  con- 
centrate on  it.     We've  pledged  our  honor  to  Miss  Nora 
that  we'll  get  her  father  out  of  the  mess  he's  been 
plunged  into  by  that  little  Spanish  scoundrel,  and  we 
must  redeem  that  pledge.     I'll  depend  on  you  to  put 
your  back  into  the  job.     Of  course  there  is  the  interest 
of  the  Bank  in  the  success  of  the  company  to  be  con- 
sidered ;  but  I'll  forgive  you  if  you  put  Miss  Nora  first." 

"  I  think  we  both  put  Nora  first,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 

The  manager  looked  covertly  at  his  cashier,  but  Mr. 
Jackson's  expression  was  normal. 

"Anyhow,"  thought  the  manager,  "  a  little  jealousy 
will  spur  him  up  to  go  in  for  her  more  ardently ;  and 
that,  in  the  circumstances,"  his  thoughts  ran  on  a  little 
forlornly,  "  is,  I  suppose,  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen." 

"  Well,"  he  said  aloud,  "  with  a  view  to  the  business 
in  hand  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  we  refrained  from 
discussing  her  at  all,  except  in  relation  to  the  woolen 
factory.  I  know  I  myself  am  a  little  given  to  digression 
when  I  get  on  a  subject  like  that;  and  concentration  is 
the  word  for  the  present." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  said  the  cashier  nonchalantly ;  "  if 
you  can  do  without  talking  about  her,  I  can." 

Again  the  manager  looked  at  Mr.  Jackson,  this  time 
more  intently,  but  the  cashier's  answering  glance  was 
merely  pleasant. 

"You  can  depend  upon  it,  sir,"  he  said  with  frank 
heartiness.  "  I'll  do  my  very  best  for  Nora." 

261 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  I  know  you  will,"  answered  the  manager  warmly. 
"  Well,  then ;  Denis  scoured  the  town  last  night,  and 
to-day  he's  going  to  dodge  up  and  down  in  the  market 
every  spare  moment  he  has ;  and  at  half-past  four  — 
we'll  be  done  by  then  —  he's  coming  round  to  bring  his 
report.  Remind  me  to  fetch  a  decanter  of  whisky  down 
to  the  private  room  after  we  close.  Throw  open  the 
doors  now,  Jackson ;  and,  by  the  way,  don't  be  too  cor- 
dial to  any  country  customer  that  wishes  to  subscribe 
for  shares,  or  he'll  think  we  want  to  push  the  company, 
and  that  would  be  fatal." 

Before  closing  hour  about  fifteen  hundred  shares  had 
been  subscribed  for.  The  manager  was  in  high  feather. 

"  Come,  Jackson,"  he  said  gaily  as  he  banged  the  safe 
door ;  "  that  wasn't  a  bad  day's  work  for  a  beginning. 
Of  course  it's  market-day;  but  even  so,  it  wasn't  bad. 
Our  friend  Hephaestus " 

"  Who  ? "  demanded  Mr.  Jackson,  wrinkling  his 
brows. 

"  Oh,  Denis,  I  mean,"  said  the  manager.  "  Do  you 
know,  Jackson  " —  he  looked  seriously  at  his  cashier  — 
"  I  envy  you  the  space  you  must  have  in  your  brain  for 
merely  bank  affairs.  It  will  be  very  valuable  to  you 
later  on.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  Denis  must  have  been 
getting  in  good  work.  And,  by  gad,  here's  the  great 
man  himself.  Come  in,  Denis  ;  go  right  into  the  private 
room  there.  Now,  take  that  in  your  hand  before  you 
say  a  word." 

The  blacksmith  wiped  his  mouth  in  anticipation  as  he 
reached  for  the  glass. 

Here's  your  very  good  health,  sir,"  he  said  heartily, 
and  good  luck  to  the  woolen  factory.  It's  a  pity  but 
it  was  a  distillery  we  were  startin',  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he 
said,  setting  down  the  glass,  "  if  we  could  only  make 
stuff  like  that.  But  I  suppose  we  need  clothes  too." 
He  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  mild  regret. 

"  Well  now,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  what  luck  ?  " 


H 
U 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        263 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
settling  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  extracting  a  foul 
little  clay  from  his  trousers  pocket,  where,  through  some 
gift  of  vitality  the  secret  of  which  was  only  known  to 
itself,  it  lived  in  perfect  harmony  with  a  handful  of  nails, 
a  strap  and  buckle,  and  a  metal  tobacco-box. 

"  You  don't  mind  the  smell,  Mr.  Wildridge,  I  hope  ?  " 
he  asked,  pausing  with  a  match  suspended  above  his 
trousers  leg. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  returned  the  manager.  "  Would  you 
care  for  a  cigar,  Denis  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  answered  the  blacksmith.  "  I 
like  a  smoke,  an'  I  like  a  chew,  but  I  don't  care  for  them 
both  at  the  one  time." 

He  sucked  the  flame  noisily  into  his  pipe  half  a  dozen 
times,  pressed  the  few  loose  red  strands  of  tobacco  firmly 
down  with  his  forefinger,  and  expelling  a  mighty  volume 
of  smoke,  cast  the  match,  on  the  floor  and  ground  it  into 
the  carpet. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  blacksmith,  *'  the  first  man  I 
tackled  last  night  after  I  left  ye  was  Barney  Ryan. 
Maybe  ye're  not  aware  of  it,  but  Barney  is  the  hottest 
Sinn  Feiner  in  the  district,  an'  ye  know  what  that  means. 
Anything  that's  made  in  Ireland  is  good,  whether  it  is 
or  not ;  and  all  the  rest  is  English  rubbish,  even  if  it  was 
made  in  Germany.  So  I  tipped  the  wink  strong  to  Bar- 
ney that  this  was  an  Irish  company  through  an'  through. 
The  divil  a  man,  I  told  him,  is  to  be  employed  in  it  that 
can't  produce  a  birth  certificate  that  he  was  born  in  the 
Four  Provinces,  unless  he  can  prove  that  his  father  and 
mother  was  driv  out  of  the  country  by  the  landlords. 
What  he'll  say  later  on  when  he  finds  out  that  we're  en- 
gaging a  man  from  Bradford  to  manage  the  place,  Lord 
alone  knows.  But  if  him  an'  his  party  has  their  shares 
taken  by  that  time  it'll  be  the  less  matter.  However,  I 
told  him  all  the  bill-heads  is  to  be  printed  in  the  Irish 
character,  an'  '  Deanta  in  Eirinn '  stamped  on  every 


264        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

blanket  we  turn  out ;  an'  he's  well  satisfied,  an'  away 
round  the  whole  party  to  beat  them  up. 

"  They're  a  queer  crowd  the  Sinn  Feiners,"  observed 
the  blacksmith  reflectively.  "  There's  Barney,  now,  as 
hot  a  one  as  you'll  get,  an'  not  a  crumb  of  tobacco  he'll 
let  into  his  pipe  unless  it's  some  stuff  grew  by  a  Unionist 
man  down  in  the  south.  So  long  as  a  thing  is  made  in 
Ireland  they  don't  care  which  party  makes  it,  instead  of 
supporting  a  good  Nationalist  as  they  ought  to.  Divil 
a  bit  of  patriotism  is  in  them  at  all.  But  in  the  mean- 
time Barney  will  be  useful  to  us. 

"  And  I  tell  you  what  he'll  do  as  well.  He'll  give  us 
a  lift  with  Father  Kelly.  Ye  haven't  come  across 
Father  Kelly  yet,  Mr.  Wildridge,  have  ye?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Denis,"  said  the  manager. 

"  Well,  you've  a  pleasure  before  ye,"  said  the  black- 
smith ;  "  for  he's  a  decent  man  an'  a  good  priest ;  an' 
as  fine  crack  as  there  is  from  here  to  Cork.  Ye'll  know 
him  by  his  saying  '  Good  mornin' '  to  you  in  Irish. 
*  Goide  mar  ihd  tu?  '  he'll  say  to  you,  that's  '  How  are 
ye  doin'  yourself?  '  an'  if  you  could  learn  to  say  back  to 
him  '  Thd  me  go  breagh,'  that  is,  *  Rightly,'  it  would  be 
worth  something  to  the  company." 

"  I  think  I  can  learn  that,  Denis,"  said  the  manager. 

"  Do,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  It'll  be  as  good  as  five 
hundred  shares,  an'  maybe  a  thousand ;  for  he's  desper- 
ate well  thought  of  in  the  country,  an'  his  word'll  go  far. 
An'  if  ever  ye're  writin'  to  him  an'  could  mind  to  spell 
his  name  C-e-a-1-l-a-i-g,  with  a  full  stop  over  the  '  g,' 
it  would  just  clench  the  job." 

"  I  see  you  know  a  little  Irish  yourself,  Denis,"  said 
the  manager. 

"  A  bit,"  acknowledged  the  blacksmith.  "  A  man  in 
a  public  position  like  mine  has  to  have  an  iron  in  every 
fire." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  made  a  bad  bank  manager, 
Denis,"  remarked  the  manager  dryly;  to  which  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        265 

blacksmith  returned  a  wink  of  perfect  comprehension. 

"  Well  then,"  he  went  on,  "  I  tackled  Aloysius 
O'Bourke.  Aloysius  and  I  are  very  much  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking  —  a  kind  of  moderate  Nationalists,  with 
an  eye  to  which  way  the  cat  is  jumpin'.  I  think  you 
may  leave  that  side  of  things  in  my  hands.  The  only 
trouble  I  see  is  that  when  I  go  round  among  the  boys 
talkin'  about  what  the  factory  is  goin'  to  do  for  the 
country,  somebody  else'll  want  to  start  an  opposition 
show  just  to  show  that  he's  the  real  patriot;  but  I'll 
have  to  look  out  for  that  as  well  as  I  can." 

"  The  next  thing  now  is  the  Unionists.  Well,  in  the 
first  place  Mr.  Normanby  is  one  of  their  own  sort.  I 
wouldn't  put  much  on  that ;  for  he's  hardly  enough  of  a 
party  man  to  please  everybody.  But  a  good  few  of  the 
real  true-blues'll  follow  Mr.  de  Bullevant." 

"  Where  would  he  get  the  money  to  take  shares, 
Denis  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  I  have  it  from  Michael  that  the  old  gentleman's 
goin'  to  sell  him  the  head-rent  of  the  hotel,  an'  put  the 
money  into  the  company.  I've  been  wondering  what 
was  behind  it ;  an'  it  come  into  my  head  that  maybe  he 
was  layin'  out  Mr.  Percy  for  a  son-in-law  for  Mr.  Nor- 
manby —  on  account  of  the  fortune,"  said  the  black- 
smith, chuckling  joyously.  "  You'd  better  look  out  for 
yourself,  Mr.  Jackson." 

"  That'll  do  now,  Denis,"  said  the  cashier  in  some 
confusion,  as  the  manager  noticed. 

"  Anyhow,  as  I  say,"  continued  the  blacksmith,  "  the 
Orange  party  will  follow  the  landlord.  Then  there's  a 
lot  of  them  I'll  just  tip  the  old  cry  of  the  North-East 
corner  to;  that's  good  enough  for  what  ye  might  call 
the  romantic  section  of  them.  And  as  for  the  remainder, 
an'  that's  the  bulk  of  them,  the  divil  a  fluke  ye'll  get 
out  of  them,  no  matter  who's  at  the  head  of  the  under- 
taking unless  ye  can  show  them  in  black  an'  white  that 
it's  goin'  to  pay." 


266        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Well,  we'll  leave  it  at  that,  Denis,  in  the  meantime," 
said  the  manager.  "  As  far  as  a  comparatively  simple 
person  like  myself  can  judge,  you're  not  on  bad  lines. 
And  if  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  things  aren't  going  as 
well  as  we'd  like,  we  still  have  a  card  to  play." 

"  The  old  card,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  an'  a  trump 
it  is.  Oh,  you're  a  simple  one,  Mr.  Wildridge,  right 
enough.  Well,  just  a  drop.  An' more  good  luck  to  the 
factory.  If  the  people  of  Portnamuck  knew  the  way 
we've  been  workin'  for  them  there'd  be  another  monu- 
ment in  the  street  before  long." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  the  manager,  cocking  his  eye  at 
Denis  humorously,  "  I'm  afraid  after  a  while  there  would 
be  a  heavy  bill  for  tar." 

"  Not  for  the  monument,"  said  the  blacksmith  with 
fervor.  "  If  they  ever  come  to  know  the  ins  an'  outs 
of  this  business  it's  ourselves  they'll  be  puttin'  the  tar 
on ;  an'  purty  thick  at  that !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IN  a  very  short  time  the  machinations  of  the  black- 
smith showed  results.  During  the  next  few  days  a 
steady  stream  of  applicants  for  shares  flowed  in. 
A  judicious  use  by  the  manager  of  the  blacksmith's  hint 
captured  Father  Kelly's  heart,  only  too  susceptible 
where  his  almost  childlike  enthusiasms  lay;  and  his  in- 
fluence speedily  made  itself  felt.  The  blacksmith 
worked  his  party  for  all  he  was  worth ;  and  Mr.  de  Bulle- 
vant's  rumored  adherence  to  the  project,  which  was 
substantiated  by  Michael  Brannegan,  gained  consider- 
able weight  from  the  fact  that  he  was  actually  going  to 
sell  a  piece  of  ground,  his  hitherto  obstinate  reluctance 
to  parting  with  his  property  being  only  equaled  by  his 
readiness  to  mortgage  it.  The  virulent  opposition  of 
the  other  bank  manager,  so  far  from  injuring  the  com- 
pany, was  really  of  service  to  it,  being  set  down  to  jeal- 
ousy of  a  success  in  which  he  was  not  going  to  share. 

No  question  of  the  reality  of  Mr.  Normanby's  good 
fortune  was  entertained.  The  frequent  conferences 
between  the  manager  and  Nora  were  attributed  to  busi- 
ness acumen  alone ;  while  Mr.  Jackson's  invariable 
presence  at  them  was  put  down  to  a  judicious  mixture 
of  the  same  quality  and  love.  Nor  was  the  cashier 
thought  any  the  less  of  for  the  blend,  purely  romantic 
affection  in  Ireland  being  on  the  whole  confined  to  cities. 

In  almost  every  particular,  fortune  seemed  with  the 
conspiracy.  Mr.  Normanby,  at  no  time  suspicious,  was 
readily  induced  by  the  languor  of  his  indisposition  to 
acquiesce  in  the  delays  attributed  to  Spanish  corrup- 
tion; and  the  secretary  of  the  railway  company,  to 
whom  at  the  manager's  suggestion  Miss  Nora  had  writ- 

267 


268        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

ten  to  prepare  the  ground,  returned  a  cordial  promise  of 
cooperation. 

Mr.  Percy  alone  failed  to  fit  into  the  scheme  of  things. 
To  Miss  Nora's  ultimatum  he  positively  refused  to  re- 
turn any  answer  at  all  except  vague  assertions  about  the 
honor  of  a  de  Bullevant;  and  the  manager  inclined  to 
set  down  that  part  of  his  campaign  as  a  failure. 

But  if  the  success  of  the  company  could  be  brought 
about,  Mr.  Percy's  defection  was  a  small  matter.  On 
that  side  for  the  time  being  the  manager  remained 
calm. 

The  same  could  not  be  said  about  his  personal  rela- 
tions with  Miss  Nora.  As  far  as  she  was  concerned 
there  was  no  change.  She  maintained  the  same  attitude 
of  unquestioning  submissiveness  that  had  alternately 
flattered  and  alarmed  him  since  his  moment  of  passion 
on  the  night  of  the  meeting. 

But  he  was  distinctly  perturbed  to  observe  with  what 
pleasure  he  was  beginning  to  acquiesce  in  it,  and  nightly 
contests  with  his  conscience  ensued,  to  be  ended  with 
a  resort  to  the  hackneyed  carpe  diem  of  his  favorite 
Horace,  and  a  determined  procrastination  of  the  whole 
question  till  the  fate  of  the  company  was  definitely 
settled. 

The  departure  of  Miss  Nora  for  Belfast  was  accom- 
panied by  some  public  excitement.  In  furtherance  of 
his  diplomacy  the  manager  had  allowed  her  mission  to 
leak  out.  The  immediate  result  was  a  quickening  of  the 
demand  for  shares.  The  advantage  to  the  company  of 
a  railway  connection  to  Belfast  was  obvious  to  every- 
body; and  the  success  of  Miss  Nora's  appeal  to  the 
secretary  backed  up  by  her  father's  immense  wealth  was 
hardly  questioned. 

Miss  Nora's  easy  geniality  to  all  classes  had  long  won 
the  hearts  of  the  populace  of  Portnamuck;  and  this 
fresh  evidence  of  her  loyalty  to  the  town  increased  their 
prepossession  in  her  favor.  Long  before  the  evening 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       269 

char-a-banc  to  the  station  was  due  to  depart,  a  mixed 
crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children  had  assembled  round 
Michael  Brannegan's  corner;  and  when  she  came  in 
sight  a  cheer  arose  that  gave  Phil  Moran  a  busy  couple 
of  minutes  with  his  horses. 

Miss  Nora  accepted  the  tribute  with  calmness. 

"  Steady  there,  Jenny,  you  old  idiot,"  she  cried  to  a 
particularly  vociferous  female  admirer  who  insisted  on 
helping  her  up ;  "  you'd  think  I'd  no  legs." 

She  swung  herself  easily  on  to  the  vehicle,  and  looked 
round  the  crowd.  The  manager  was  just  below  her, 
with  Jackson  at  his  elbow. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  Phil,"  said  Miss  Nora  to  the 
driver.  "  Jacks,  keep  back  those  boys." 

She  bent  down  to  the  manager. 

"  Mr.  Wildridge,"  she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling,  "  what 
do  you  think  has  happened?  Percy  came  round  just 
now  with  the  deed  completed,  ready  for  Dad's  signature, 
and  it's  signed  and  posted  off  —  to  be  registered,  I  think 
he  said.  Fancy  old  Percy.  I  say  " —  she  bent  lower  — 
"  I  think  he  wanted  to  marry  me  on  the  spot."  She 
laughed  delightedly,  then  sobered.  "  Do  you  know,  I 
felt  a  mean  cat  for  a  minute  or  two,  till  I  remembered 
he  deserved  it.  If  I  hadn't  had  the  excuse  of  the  car 
waiting  I'd  never  have  been  able  to  put  him  off.  And 
I  say  " —  she  bent  still  lower  and  a  sparkle  of  the  old 
mischief  lit  her  eye  — "  he  asked  me  to  kiss  him  good- 
by."  The  manager's  glance  spoke  him  about  nineteen 
again.  "  I  didn't,"  murmured  Miss  Nora  hurriedly. 
"  Get  on,  Phil !  " 

The  horses  started  with  a  jerk  and  a  clash  of  chains. 
Another  vociferous  cheer  rose  spontaneously  from  the 
crowd. 

"  God  bless  her  pretty  face,"  called  out  Marget  Ann 
Doolahan,  and  a  hearty  chorus  endorsed  the  sentiment. 
But  Miss  Nora  was  bending  over  the  strap  of  her  port- 
manteau, and  her  pretty  face  was  hidden. 


270        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  Come  along  back  to  the  Bank,  Jackson,"  cried  the 
manager  boisterously,  "  and  we'll  crack  a  wee  bottle  of 
fizz.  Old  de  Bullevant  has  climbed  down,  the  company 
is  going  strong,  and  —  and  —  sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  somewhat  spectacular  departure  of  Miss 
Nora  on  her  mission  still  further  stimulated 
application  for  shares.  For  the  next  few  days 
progress  if  not  extraordinarily  rapid  was  steady,  and 
the  directors  descended  the  Bank  steps  cheerfully  after 
their  frequent  interviews  with  the  manager. 

Mr.  Finnegan  became  daily  more  expansive  on  the 
subject  of  the  company,  and  not  content  with  multiply- 
ing tenfold  —  in  his  talk  —  his  first  subscription  for 
shares,  made  it  known  in  every  portion  of  the  town,  ex- 
cept Michael  Brannegan's  bar-parlor,  that  if  the  full 
amount  of  the  capital  were  not  subscribed  on  the  ap- 
pointed date,  he  was  quite  prepared  to  step  into  the 
breach,  if  he  might  so  express  it,  with  a  thousand  pounds 
or  so.  Mr.  Sharpe  stuck  firm  to  his  original  promise 
to  subscribe  five  hundred  pounds  as  soon  as  he  was  satis- 
fied the  concern  had  a  reasonable  promise  of  success,  a 
condition  which  he  admitted  would  be  satisfied  by  def- 
inite news  of  the  coming  of  the  railway ;  while  the  seeds- 
man relapsed  into  deep  melancholy  on  the  ground  that 
an  undertaking  which  was  beginning  with  such  unclouded 
prospects  was  practically  certain  to  come  to  grief  in  the 
end. 

Michael,  who  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  insult 
to  his  dignity  sustained  at  the  Town  Hall,  was  senten- 
tious but  morose. 

If  the  ignorant  roughs  that  disgraced  themselves  and 
the  town  at  the  meeting  were  going  to  put  up  the  money, 
he  was  reported  to  have  said,  he  would  see  that  he  had 
his  share  of  the  profits;  and  if  they  weren't  he  had 

271 


272       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

bought  his  head-rent  cheap  over  the  business,  and  didn't 
care  a  d n. 

In  the  Bank  decided  hopefulness  prevailed.  Three 
days  after  Miss  Nora  left,  the  manager  was  able  to  write 
to  her  that  over  eight  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  shares 
had  been  subscribed  for.  By  return  of  post  came  the 
great  news  that  the  railway  company's  attitude  to  the 
question  of  an  extension  had  been  much  modified  by  the 
prospect  of  the  successful  flotation  of  a  large  manu- 
facturing company,  and  that  the  secretary  and  one  of 
the  directors  were  coming  to  report  on  the  district  in 
two  days'  time,  by  the  same  car  as  Miss  Nora. 

Excitement  ran  high  in  the  town.  The  coming  of  the 
railway  was  immediately  taken  as  certain,  and  quite  a 
spate  of  subscriptions  flowed  in  from  Portnamuck.  The 
rural  districts,  as  usual,  remained  cautious ;  but  in  the 
two  days  Mr.  Jackson  changed  an  amazing  number  of 
one-pound  notes  for  farmers  who  had  made  that  excuse 
for  calling  into  the  Bank  to  see  how  the  land  lay. 

As  instructed,  the  cashier  was  quite  noticeably  cau- 
tious in  his  commendation  of  the  project,  in  consequence 
of  which  most  of  his  customers  drove  home  fairly  well 
persuaded  that  the  company  had  no  need  of  their  as- 
sistance, and  was,  therefore,  well  worth  supporting. 

Feverish  efforts  were  made  by  the  citizens  to  improve 
the  appearance  of  the  town.  Curtains  were  washed, 
windows  were  cleaned.  Mr.  Keffey,  the  builder,  was 
stated  to  have  sold  over  a  lorry  of  lime  for  whitewash ; 
and  his  staff  of  two  painters  made  so  much  money  in 
overtime  and  tips  the  first  few  days  that  they  entirely 
suspended  work  in  order  to  lay  out  the  money  in  the 
customary  fashion;  whereby  the  doctor  shared  in  the 
general  activity,  for  no  fewer  than  three  householders 
endeavoring  to  do  their  own  painting  fell  from  or 
through  ladders,  and  injured  limbs. 

The  directors  were  no  less  active.  The  seedsman  not 
only  made  his  window  a  flame  of  warring  colors  with 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       273 

cut  flowers,  but  transferred  half  a  dozen  shrubs  to  the 
family  burying-plot  and  painted  the  railings ;  Mr.  Fin- 
negan  had  his  black  tailed-coat  sponged  and  pressed, 
and  wrote  imperatively  to  one  of  his  wholesale  houses 
for  the  gift  of  a  lavender  tie ;  and  Michael  —  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  company  —  put  down  half  a  dozen  of  the 
best  gooseberry  champagne  in  ice,  wired  to  Belfast  for 
a  box  of  sixpenny  cigars,  and  bought  Phil  Moran  a  new 
hat,  the  cost  of  which  he  put  down  in  the  bill  as  "  sundry 
entertainment." 

Punctually  on  the  fateful  morning  Phil  Moran's  car 
drew  up  at  the  hotel  corner  bearing  the  fates  of  Portna- 
muck  in  the  persons  of  the  secretary  of  the  railway  com- 
pany, whom  the  manager  was  quite  astonishingly  re- 
lieved to  find  a  stout,  comfortable-looking,  red-faced 
man  of  at  least  some  years  older  than  himself,  and  the 
director,  a  spare,  mummified  little  body,  meticulously 
groomed,  and  wearing  a  frock-coat,  the  effect  of  which 
was  at  the  moment  seriously  impaired  by  the  traveling- 
cap  he  was  wearing. 

"  Bedambut,"  said  the  voice  of  Terry  at  the  manager's 
elbow,  "  he's  a  dhry-lookin'  wee  bird  that.  There's  a 
kind  av  pounds-shillin's-an'-pence  look  about  him  I  don't 
much  fancy.  But  the  big  fellow's  a  hearty-lookin'  boyo. 
It's  himself  you'd  betther  keep  the  soft-soap  for;  an' 
bedambut  I'd  mix  it  wid  a  dhrop  av  whisky." 

But  the  manager  was  half-way  across  the  street  to 
meet  Miss  Nora. 

They  did  not  shake  hands,  but  as  they  turned  to  walk 
towards  the  Rectory,  the  manager  found  his  left  hand 
touching  Miss  Nora's  right  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and 
twenty-five  consciences  could  not  have  prevented  his  giv- 
ing it  a  swift  surreptitious  clasp  and  rejoicing  when  it 
was  returned. 

"  Well,  Nora  girl,"  he  said,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  the 
secretary  was  as  good  as  yours,  if  he  was  under  ninety?  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Nora  with  frank  triumph, 


274.       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  I  rather  think  I  have  the  secretary.  But  I  say,  Mr. 
Wildridge,  the  other  old  fellow's  as  dry  as  sawdust.  I 
could  make  nothing  of  him.  He's  an  old  bachelor,  and 
a  kind  of  old-maidy  as  well." 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  world,  Nora,"  said  the  man- 
ager, "  so  bad  for  a  man  as  to  live  a  bachelor  till  his  age. 
But  listen,  I  think  I'd  better  have  a  chat  with  him  before 
I  leave  for  the  Bank.  I  might  be  able  to  do  something 
with  him.  You  won't  mind  if  I  don't  leave  you 
home?" 

"  Och,  come  on  a  little  bit  of  the  way,"  said  Miss  Nora. 
"  I've  such  a  lot  to  tell  you.  You'll  manage  him  all 
right.  No,"  she  cried  with  compunction,  "  I'm  a  pig. 
We  must  put  Dad  first  of  all.  Yes,  go  back.  And,  I 
say,  you  won't  mind  if  I  run  ?  I'm  awful  anxious  to  see 
old  Dad." 

"  Run,  Nora,"  said  the  manager.  "  Dad  first  of  all  is 
what  we're  all  sworn  to.  And  I'll  send  you  a  note  with 
the  good  news  before  the  car  leaves.  So  don't  worry." 

"  I'll  try  not  to,"  answered  Miss  Nora  soberly ;  "  but 
all  the  same  I  shall.  I  don't  think  I'll  really  be  at  ease 
till  Dad's  free  of  his  word.  You  know  —  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  answered  the  manager,  with  a  compre- 
hending pressure  of  her  hand.  "  And  if  the  studied  wis- 
dom of  my  conversation  this  morning  doesn't  captivate 
even  an  old-maidish  bachelor,  I  haven't  been  a  student  of 
human  nature  for  —  more  years  than  I'd  like  to  tell  you, 
Nora.  Good-by,  now ;  and  off  you  run." 

The  manager  stood  till  Nora  was  turning  the  corner 
to  the  Rectory,  and  answered  her  farewell  wave  of  the 
hand  with  gaiety. 

"  The  agreement  recently  arrived  at  among  all  parties 
to  this  business,"  he  said  sharply  to  one  of  his  inner 
voices,  "  is  that  nothing  whatever  is  to  be  considered  at 
present  but  the  delivery  of  Mr.  Normanby.  So  shut 
up." 

The  blacksmith  met  him  at  the  door  of  the  hotel. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        275 

"  Come  in,  quick,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he  whispered 
eagerly.  "  The  wee  director-man  has  got  a  tall  hat  on 

and  he's  that  business-lookin'  that  d n  the  one  of 

them'll  face  him  they're  that  afeard  of  puttin'  their  foot 
in  it." 

"  Where's  the  secretary,  Denis  ?  "  asked  the  manager. 

"  He's  at  the  bar  with  Finnegan,"  said  the  blacksmith 
with  glee.  "  Ould  yellow-face  was  here  half  an  hour 
before  the  car  come  in,  with  a  speech  in  his  pocket  as 
long  as  the  branch  line  we're  lookin'  for,  an'  when  I  seen 
the  secretary  was  an  aisy-goin'  lookin'  chap,  I  turned 
the  ould  gas-bag  on  to  him." 

"  Will  the  secretary  be  fit  for  him,  Denis  ?  "  asked  the 
manager. 

"  And  more,"  returned  the  blacksmith.  "  At  the  rate 
he's  goin'  he'll  rid  us  of  the  ould  pollute  till  the  com- 
pany's floated.  Finnegan  has  been  drinkin'  hot  punch 
already,  an'  it  little  more  nor  breakfast  time.  That'd 
be  all  right  for  a  man  like  me  that  can  sweat  it  out  in  his 
day's  work,  but  it's  no  drink  for  a  draper  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  mornin'." 

"  That's  all  right,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  with 
satisfaction.  "  I  was  afraid  of  Finnegan.  I'll  tackle 
the  director.  Remember  now,  Denis,  what  you're  to  do 
with  him  all  day.  And  about  three  o'clock  come  round 
to  me  and  report." 

"  What  prospect,  sir  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson  when  his 
chief  arrived  at  the  Bank. 

"  I  think  we'll  do  it,  Jackson,"  said  the  manager, 
executing  a  highly  unprofessional  step-dance.  "  The 
railway  had  the  whole  ground  surveyed  last  time  an 
extension  was  proposed,  and  were  almost  decided  to  come 
in.  All  that  blocked  it  was  the  consideration  that  there 
was  a  summer  traffic  only.  If  the  woolen  manufactory 
goes  on  the  railway  comes  in;  that's  the  situation  in 
a  nutshell." 


276       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  And  what  does  the  old  fellow  think  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Jackson. 

*'  I  trust,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager,  "  that  you 
have  observed  a  certain  becoming  modesty  in  the  local 
head  of  this  institution,  and  I  am  not  going  to  boast 
now ;  but  if  I  hadn't  a  business  conscience  seared  by  over 
twenty  years  of  joint-stock  banking,  I  should  blush  when 
I  think  of  the  views  I  expressed  this  morning  about  the 
factory.  But  he's  a  sapless  old  stick,  and  as  matter-of- 
fact  as  a  bank  circular.  Jackson,  my  boy,  you  know 
what  I  said  to  you  about  bachelorhood  before.  If  you 
desire  a  living  sermon  on  the  subject  go  and  look  at 
that  decorated  old  Pharaoh  at  the  hotel." 

"  I've  no  notion  of  remaining  a  bachelor,"  declared 
the  cashier  stoutly,  and  blushed  even  beyond  his  ordi- 
nary. 

"  Ha,"  said  the  manager,  looking  hard  at  him. 
"  Well,  you're  right,"  he  went  on.  "  For  sapping  gen- 
erosity and  vital  heat,  for  substituting  for  the  warm 
coloring  of  romance  the  cold  grayness  of  that  most 
damnable  virtue  common  sense,  there's  nothing  so  ap- 
pallingly effective  as  bachelorhood  prolonged  too  late. 
You'd  hardly  believe  it,  but  that  old  anchorite  traveled 
down  from  Belfast  this  morning  and  never  observed  that 
Nora's  hair  curled  naturally." 

"  That's  odd,  too,  sir,"  said  Jackson.  "  All  the  old 
fellows  seem  to  run  after  Nora."  The  manager  glanced 
up  sharply.  "  Look  at  the  secretary,  for  instance," 
continued  Jackson. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  manager.  "  Of  course  he's 
not  so  very  old,  Jackson." 

"  He  may  think  that,  sir,"  returned  the  cashier. 
"  But  all  the  same  he's  no  chicken." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  the  manager  a  little  gloomily. 
"  Come  now,  Jackson,  let's  get  on.  There'll  likely  be  a 
rush  of  applicants  to-day." 

The  prognostication  was  correct.     When  the  black- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        277 

smith  arrived  shortly  after  three  o'clock  the  manager 
was  able  to  announce  additional  subscriptions  of  almost 
one  thousand  pounds. 

"  And  what  luck  about  the  railway,  Denis  ?  "  he  in- 
quired anxiously. 

"  The  ould  fellow's  give  me  a  divil  of  a  day  of  it  pokin* 
his  nose  all  over  the  town  and  country.  I've  had  two 

bottles  of.  champagne  wine,  an'  ate  d d  near  the  half 

of  four  cigars ;  an'  what  my  inside  is  goin'  to  do  about 
it  I'm  not  right  sure  yet,"  said  the  blacksmith  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye  that  belied  his  dismal  tones.  "  But 
the  railway's  right,  Mr.  Wildridge.  He's  as  good  as 
told  me  he'd  recommend  it  if  the  factory  goes  on;  an' 
the  secretary  says  that  will  settle  the  job,  for  the  ould 
fellow  was  the  man  kiboshed  it  before.  We  want  you  to 
come  up  with  us  before  the  car  goes,  to  show  him  the 
site ;  an'  ye  can  be  tellin'  him  as  ye  go  along  what  shares 
is  taken." 

"  I'm  with  you,  Denis,"  said  the  manager.  "  Wait  till 
I  write  a  note.  Send  that  up  to  the  Rectory,  Jackson. 
And  turn  your  key  and  come  along  to  see  the  last  of  the 
old  chap.  Now,  Denis." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MISS  NORA  was  in  the  middle  of  her  afternoon 
toilet  when  the  manager's  note  arrived.     She 
looked  over  it  hastily  and  uttered  a  war- 
whoop  she  had  never  excelled  in  the  days  when  her  hair 
was  permanently  down,  as  indeed  it  was  temporarily  at 
the  moment. 

"  Dad,"  she  cried,  dancing  into  her  father's  room  with 
the  letter  brandished  above  her  head ;  "  great  news ;  the 
railway  is  coming  into  Portnamuclc." 

"  Great  news  indeed,  Nora  dear,"  said  Mr.  Normanby, 
smiling  fondly  at  her  enthusiasm.  "  But  from  what 
your  cousin  told  me  during  his  hurried  call  this  after- 
noon I  expected  that.  It  will  be  a  splendid  thing  for  the 
town,  and  especially  for  our  factory." 

"  You  bet  it  will,  Dad,"  she  said  with  emphasis.  "  I 
say,  Dad,  do  you  mind  if  I  run  down  the  town  and  see 
Cousin  Henry  off?  " 

"  You  would  be  very  remiss,  Nora  dear,  if  you  didn't," 
said  her  father.  "  But  I  would  suggest,  my  love,  that 
you  put  a  little  more  clothing  on  before  you  set  out." 

"  Right-oh,"  cried  Miss  Nora.  "  But  I  could  go 
down  the  town  as  I  am,  I'm  that  delighted.  Oh,  Dad- 
dleums  dear,"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  arms  sud- 
denly about  his  neck,  "  if  I  could  only  tell  you  how 
pleased  I  am !  " 

Five  minutes  later  she  issued  from  the  front  door  like 
a  whirlwind,  swept  down  the  path  and  through  the  gate, 
and  in  her  stride  kicked  an  empty  canister  high  over  the 
hedge  into  the  adjoining  field.  Then  she  pulled  up,  felt 
gingerly  at  her  back  hair,  and  began  to  walk  staidly 
along  the  road. 

278 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        279 

But  although  she  did  not  know  it,  Miss  Nora  was 
destined  that  afternoon  to  become  one  of  the  instru- 
ments of  the  Evil  One,  who  at  this  moment  issued  from 
a  doorway  in  the  shape  of  a  furtive-looking  cat  with  a 
young  chicken  in  her  mouth. 

Instantly  Miss  Nora's  decorum  vanished. 

"  Scat,  scat,  you  old  devil,"  she  called  at  the  top  of 
her  ringing  young  voice.  The  cat  broke  into  an  easy 
canter,  and  disappeared  up  a  side  lane.  Miss  Nora 
glanced  hastily  round  for  a  missile,  pounced  on  a  large 
fragment  of  turnip  that  had  dropped  from  some  coun- 
try cart,  and  darted  in  pursuit. 

But  even  Miss  Nora's  long  legs  were  unable  to  re- 
cover the  instant  she  had  lost.  For  the  first  hundred 
yards  she  succeeded  in  keeping  the  cat  in  view ;  but  then 
a  sharp  turning  and  a  cross-lane  threw  her  out,  and 
after  a  few  moments'  search  she  abandoned  the  chase. 

"  Blow,"  said  Miss  Nora  in  disgust,  "  the  cruel  old 
beast!" 

She  looked  round  her  for  a  mark.  The  devil  was  at 
her  elbow.  Along  the  blank  wall  that  divided  her  from 
the  main  street  there  passed  slowly  the  upper  portion  of 
a  particularly  shiny  top  hat.  Miss  Nora's  eyes 
sparkled.  She  raised  her  arm,  dropped  it,  raised  it 
again. 

"  Hang  it,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  this  is  my  very  last 
kick.  It's  only  some  old  commercial  traveler."  She 
launched  her  missile.  Doubtless  the  adversary  was 
astride  of  it.  It  took  the  top  hat  about  two  inches  from 
the  crown. 

Instantly  there  followed  a  cry  of  consternation  from 
half  a  dozen  throats.  Pattering  feet  sounded  on  the 
road.  Miss  Nora  took  to  her  heels,  and  tore  up  the  lane 
towards  home. 

Before  she  had  run  far  she  heard  the  sound  of  feet 
coming  swiftly  in  her  direction.  She  hesitated,  stopped, 
and  looked  eagerly  for  a  gap  in  the  hedge  that  bounded 


280        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

the  lane  on  one  side.  In  vain.  The  footsteps  were  at 
hand. 

Just  as  she  turned  to  retreat,  round  the  corner  came 
Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Good  Lord,  Jacks,"  she  gasped,  "  what  a  fright  you 
gave  me.  Quick,  let's  get  out  of  this.  I'm  just  after 
hitting  somebody's  top  hat  such  a  bang."  And  Miss 
Nora  broke  into  a  trill  of  laughter. 

"  But  what's  up?  "  she  asked  anxiously,  breaking  off. 

For  the  cashier  was  staring  at  her  in  open-mouthed 
consternation. 

"Do  you  know  whose  hat  you  hit?"  he  said.  "It 
was  the  railway  director's." 

Miss  Nora  stood  still,  gazing  at  the  cashier.  The 
color  slowly  left  her  face. 

"  Oh,  Jacks,"  she  uttered  in  an  awe-stricken  whisper, 
"  what  an  awful  thing.  Do  you  think  it  will  do  any 
harm  about  the  railway  ?  " 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  returned  Mr.  Jackson  reluc- 
tantly, "  but  I'm  afraid  it'll  do  no  good.  I  only  saw 
the  old  fellow's  face  for  an  instant,  but  it  was  positively 
white  with  rage." 

Two  tears  started  from  Miss  Nora's  eyes,  and  trickled 
down  her  face.  She  dashed  them  away. 

"  Look  here,  Jacks,"  she  cried  impetuously.  "  I'll 
go  straight  and  tell  him  I  did  it,  and  apologize.  If 
there's  an  ounce  of  sport  in  him  he'll  forgive  me.  I 
know  he  will." 

"  Better  not,  Nora,"  said  the  cashier,  restraining  her. 
"  He's  not  that  sort  of  old  josser  at  all.  Besides,  it 
might  get  your  cousin  into  a  row.  If  you  want  to  tell 
him,  better  write.  There's  a  crowd  waiting  to  see  the 
car  off,  and  you  could  never  explain  properly." 

"  Oh,  what  on  earth  am  I  to  do,"  cried  Miss  Nora 
with  a  sobbing  catch  in  her  breath.  "  Jacks,"  she  said 
eagerly,  "  don't  tell  Mr.  Wildridge.  No,  do  —  do ;  and 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        281 

ask  him  to  come  straight  and  advise  me.  I'll  be  wait- 
ing inside  the  gate.  Hurry,  Jacks,  hurry,  like  a  dear 
good  chap.  Oh,"  sobbed  Miss  Nora,  "  what  a  fool  I've 
been." 

"  Keep  up  your  heart,  Nora,"  said  Mr.  Jackson  clum- 
sily ;  "  maybe  it'll  be  all  right,  yet." 

But  his  consolation  lacked  heartiness,  and  it  was  a 
very  woebegone  girl  who  emerged  from  behind  a  laurel- 
bush  when  the  Rectory  gate  opened  to  admit  Mr.  Wild- 
ridge  and  his  cashier. 

•"  And  so  it  was  you,  Nora,  that  knocked  off  the  old 
gentleman's  hat,"  said  the  manager.  He  grasped  both 
her  hands,  and  stepped  back  a  little  to  look  at  her. 

Miss  Nora  nodded  her  head  miserably,  but  could  not 
speak. 

The  manager  gazed  gravely  at  her  for  a  moment. 
Then  all  at  once  he  began  to  laugh.  He  laughed  louder 
and  louder.  A  perfect  ecstasy  of  merriment  seized 
him.  He  released  Miss  Nora's  hands  and  rocked  to 
and  fro  in  an  abandonment  of  mirth.  Then  he  stag- 
gered back  against  a  tree,  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Nora,  darlin',"  he  gasped  weakly.  "  I've  had 
many  a  good  day  since  I  saw  you  first ;  but  this  is  the 
best  of  all.  There  was  an  old  magnate  strutting  along 
with  the  self-importance  of  a  self-made  millionaire,  heavy 
with  the  fates  of  the  whole  district  —  and  somebody 
makes  a  cock-shy  of  his  hat.  Oh,  if  you'd  only  seen  his 
face,  Nora,  if  you'd  only  seen  his  face,  —  or  Denis's  — 
or  mine.  Don't  look  so  solemn,  big  girl.  Laugh, 
daughter,  laugh.  For  you've  done  something  memor- 
able this  day.  Long  after  the  railway  has  come  in,  and 
the  factory  has  succeeded,  and  the  town  is  a  hive  of  in- 
dustry, and  you're  an  old  woman,  and  the  director  is 
dust,  it'll  warm  your  heart  to  remember  that  after  we'd 
plotted  and  schemed  to  bring  him  here,  and  the  whole 
town  had  courted  him,  and  danced  attendance  on  him, 


282        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

and  abased  itself  before  him  as  if  he  was  a  little  pro- 
vincial providence,  you  up  with  a  piece  of  turnip  and 
knocked  off  his  hat !  " 

"  But  do  you  really  think  it  will  make  no  difference 
about  the  railway,"  faltered  Nora.  "  Really  and 
truly? "  There  was  a  half-incredulous  hope  in  her 
voice. 

"  Really  and  truly,  honor  bright,  wish  I  may  die," 
answered  the  manager  stoutly.  "  The  director  is  a  busi- 
ness man.  If  his  report  would  have  been  favorable  he's 
not  going  to  alter  it,  mad  as  he  is  personally,  for  the 
sake  of  his  dignity  and  a  top  hat.  And  even  if  he  does, 
no  matter.  There's  the  secretary's  report  as  well. 
And  if  at  the  worst  the  railway  doesn't  come  in,  still  no 
matter.  We'll  float  the  company  in  spite  of  it.  I'm 
off  to  meet  Denis  now,  and  bring  up  our  heavy  bat- 
talions. This  little  reverse  will  do  us  good.  We  were 
winning  too  easily.  Good-by  now,  Nora.  And  just  a 
twinkle  of  the  old  smile  before  we  go." 

Miss  Nora  stretched  out  her  hands  impulsively,  and 
laid  them  in  his.  A  mist  came  over  her  eyes. 

"  You've  been  a  brick,"  she  said ;  "  win  or  lose  you've 
been  a  brick  to  me." 

She  turned  away  quickly,  and  hurried  in  among  the 
shrubs. 

"  Poor  Nora,"  said  Mr.  Jackson ;  "  she's  awfully  cut 
up  about  the  mess  she's  made  of  things.  But  it  was 
just  like  her.  She'd  go  to  the  devil  for  a  joke." 

"  Never  mind,  Jackson,  my  boy,"  said  the  manager ; 
"  it's  a  fault  you'll  blame  the  less  as  you  grow  older." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  blaming  Nora,"  protested  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  Do  you  know,  sir,  I  think  more  of  her  lately  than  ever 
I  did  before."  ("  H'm,  h'm,"  said  the  manager  to  him- 
self. )  "  I  never  knew  how  clever  and  well-read  she  was 
till  I  heard  her  talking  to  you.  You  seem  to  pull  her 
out  some  way  or  another.  And  you  can  turn  her  round 
your  finger,  sir.  She  believes  you  were  really  laughing 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       283 

about  the  old  chap's  hat.  And  you  did  it  awfully  well, 
I  must  say." 

"And  do  you  think  I  was  affecting  to  laugh?  "  said 
the  manager.  "  My  dear  fellow,  it's  the  most  priceless 
bit  of  topsy-turvy  humor  I've  met  in  my  passage 
through  this  vale  of  dullness.  But  it'll  be  costly,  I  ad- 
mit. When  I  said  before  that  I  was  putting  my  utmost 
into  this  business  I  didn't  really  mean  it.  I  thought  I 
could  win  at  my  ease.  It's  a  common  delusion  in  other 
matters  than  finance,  Jackson,  my  son,"  interjected  the 
manager.  "  But  now  I've  really  got  my  back  to  the 
wall.  And  you  must  do  a  little  more  than  your  best 
to  help  me,  on  Nora's  account.  For  if  we  fail  now  she'll 
never  forgive  herself." 

"  I  know  that,  sir,"  said  Jackson ;  "  and  I'll  do  all  a 
fellow  can  do." 

"  Good  lad,"  said  the  manager,  clapping  him  on  the 
back.  "  And  now  I'm  off  to  see  Denis  and  plan  our 
masterstroke." 

"  Couldn't  I  give  you  a  hand,  sir,"  inquired  the  cash- 
ier. 

"  Better  not,"  said  the  manager.  "  No ;  keep  out  of 
this.  We're  going  to  do  a  blackguardedly  thing,  Jack- 
son lad.  For  the  sake  of  Miss  Nora's  bright  eyes  we're 
going  to  launch  a  thousand  spites  and  burn  the  topless 
towers  of  Portnamuck.  We're  going  to  cast  the  apple 
of  discord  into  the  town  and  pick  our  neighbors'  pockets 
while  they're  pursuing  it.  To  come  down  from  the 
classical  to  the  colloquial,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  man- 
ager, "  we're  going  to  set  the  whole  neighborhood  by  the 
ears.  And  hear  me  swear,"  continued  the  manager, 
raising  his  right  hand  and  his  voice  at  the  same  time: 
"  until  the  success  of  the  Portnamuck  Woolen  Factory, 
Ltd.,  is  secured,  outside  of  my  legitimate  business  as  a 
banker  not  one  thought  of  any  other  subject  crosses  my 
brain.  So  if  you  want  my  advice  on  the  interesting 
questions  of  love,  courtship,  and  marriage,  on  which 


284        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

subjects,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Mr.  Jackson,  I  have 
acquired  a  good  deal  more  data  during  these  last  few 
weeks,  you'll  have  to  wait  till  the  concern  is  floated." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  said  Jackson  with  a  half-conscious 
laugh.  "  For  the  next  fortnight  I'll  do  my  own  court- 
ing." 

"  I  wonder,  now,"  said  the  manager,  looking  after  him 
abstractedly,  "  I  wonder  what  he  meant  by  that.  But, 
no,"  he  said  with  resolution,  "  the  company,  the  com- 
pany ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  CASUAL  observer  would  have  noticed  nothing 
unusual  going  on  in  the  town  of  Portnamuck 
during  the  following  week.  But  to  the  initiated 
there  were  several  incidents  of  significance.  A  general 
constraint  had  spread  over  the  town.  Salutations  were 
curter,  hospitality  less  rife.  The  nightly  gathering  at 
the  corner  opposite  Michael  Brannegan's  had  split  into 
two,  occupying  different  sides  of  the  angle ;  and  conver- 
sation, though  more  eager,  was  subdued.  Old  cronies 
of  a  lifetime's  standing  might  have  been  observed  to  dis- 
cuss their  nightly  pints  of  stout  with  different  mates, 
and  to  select  their  public-house  with  a  view  to  congruity 
of  religion  with  the  proprietor  rather  than  as  formerly 
to  the  quality  of  drink  he  vended.  Mrs.  Rafferty  osten- 
tatiously carried  a  damaged  pair  of  shoes  past  the 
cobbler's  shop  to  an  inferior  practitioner  farther  down 
the  street,  and  on  her  way  back  indulged  in  a  spirited 
controversy  with  the  cobbler's  wife  on  the  subject  of  the 
spirits  of  the  departed,  with  special  reference  to  the  ad- 
herents of  their  respective  faiths.  On  Wednesday  the 
flute  and  drum  band  of  the  local  Loyal  Orange  Lodge 
passed  through  the  town  playing  "  The  Boyne  Water," 
and  the  following  night  the  Robert  Emmett  brass  band 
practised  "  A  Nation  Once  Again  "  in  the  square  op- 
posite their  band-room  till  within  half  an  hour  of  clos- 
ing-time. 

On  Friday  a  new  star  appeared,  not  indeed  in  the 
heavens,  but  in  the  fanlight  over  the  door  of  the  Hi- 
bernian Hall;  and  on  Saturday  morning  a  belated 
aspiration  about  the  eternal  welfare  of  our  late  sover- 
eign King  William  the  Third  was  discovered  to  have  been 

285 


286        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

engrossed  during  the  night  in  green  paint  on  the  gable 
of  the  Orange  Hall.  And  as  a  direct  outcome  of  these 
activities  the  Reverend  Mr.  Normanby  on  Sunday,  very 
much  to  his  surprise,  preached  to  a  crowded  congrega- 
tion, including  —  in  the  back  seats  —  a  number  of  dis- 
tant farmers  who  had  not  been  previously  known  to  at- 
tend the  means  of  grace  for  above  twenty  years. 

The  connection  between  the  various  incidents  related 
and  the  increasingly  extensive  application  for  shares  in 
the  woolen  factory  was  less  apparent ;  and  Mr.  Jackson, 
true  to  the  implied  compact  with  his  manager,  did  not 
openly  draw  any  inferences.  Each  evening  he  received 
a  bulletin  for  Miss  Nora  from  the  manager,  and  was  no 
more  seen  in  the  town.  On  two  mornings  he  produced, 
with  more  ostentation  than  the  amounts  quite  justified, 
applications  for  shares,  and  hinted  rather  defensively  at 
his  exertions.  But  the  manager  had  withdrawn  into 
himself,  and  although  secretly  disappointed  by  the 
amount  of  support  he  was  receiving  from  his  subordi- 
nate, refrained  from  comment.  All  his  energies  were 
concentrated  on  his  endeavors  to  secure  a  successful  flo- 
tation. Mr.  Jackson,  at  no  time  a  critic  of  his  chief, 
had  been  up  to  now  rather  inclined  to  regard  him  as  an 
easy-going  and  tolerant  chum  of  no  particular  business 
capacity ;  and  his  admiration  and  loyalty  were  redoubled 
as  he  marked  the  manager's  handling  of  prospective 
applicants  for  shares ;  nicely  discriminating  the  degrees 
of  flattery  among  citizen  and  farmer,  credulous  and  sus- 
picious, masculine  and  feminine;  dexterously  insinuat- 
ing the  certain  success  of  the  company  without  com- 
mitting himself  to  positive  statement ;  and  skating  over 
the  thin  ice  of  political  and  religious  animosity  without 
even  a  threatening  of  disaster.  After  a  diversity  of  ex- 
perience with  managers  who  were  or  supposed  themselves 
to  be  overworked,  Mr.  Jackson,  too,  was  grateful  to  find 
that  these  daily  exertions,  the  evening  work  consequent 
on  them,  and  a  voluminous  correspondence  with  the  sec- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       287 

retary  of  the  railway  company,  left  no  trace  on  the 
manager's  temper,  except,  perhaps,  that  his  manner  had 
more  of  business  formality  than  was  accustomed,  and 
that  his  conversation  was  less  frequently  lightened  by 
gleams  of  whimsical  humor. 

But  on  the  Wednesday  of  the  second  week  after  the 
episode  of  the  top  hat,  the  manager,  totting  up  the  day's 
applications  for  shares,  unexpectedly  returned  to  nor- 
mal. 

"  Jackson,  my  boy,"  he  said  with  a  sigh  of  satisfac- 
tion, "  I  think  I  shall  soon  be  hanging  up  my  votive 
offering.  At  the  rate  subscriptions  are  coming  along 
our  ship  is  practically  sure  to  come  home.  A  full  week 
yet  before  we  go  to  allotment,  and  less  than  five  thou- 
sand to  get  in.  And  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst, 
Mr.  Normanby,  on  the  strength  of  his  site,  which  I  may 
tell  you  the  directors  are  certain  to  buy,  could  put  up 
two  thousand  five  hundred  at  least.  But  except  in  the 
last  resort  I  won't  have  him  do  it.  That  two  thousand 
five  hundred  must  be  reserved  to  ease  the  dear  old  man's 
declining  years,  and  blunt  the  keenness  of  his  disap- 
pointment." 

"  It'll  make  a  jolly  nice  little  dowry  for  Nora  too," 
said  Jackson  briskly. 

"  Begad,  so  it  will,"  returned  the  manager,  and  looked 
at  him  thoughtfully  for  a  moment.  '"  Though  he'll  be 
a  lucky  enough  fellow,  whoever  he  is,  without  it.  But  if 
he  should  happen  to  be  a  young  man  in  a  bank  —  wait 
now,  Jackson,  don't  look  so  confused;  I  forgot  that  I 
was  on  a  tabooed  subject.  She  shall  have  her  dowry  all 
the  same.  Why,  when  we've  got  in  fifteen  thousand 
pounds  already,  surely  we  can  squeeze  out  another  five. 
I  tell  you  victory  is  as  good  as  within  our  grasp." 

**  It's  simply  extraordinary,  sir,"  said  Jackson.  "  I 
never  thought  the  people  would  do  it.  Of  course  I  know 
it's  mostly  through  party  spite;  but  I  wish  you'd  let 
me  know  how  it's  been  managed." 


288        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  As  a  reward  for  your  self-control,  Mr.  Jackson," 
said  the  manager,  "  you  shall  assist  at  the  machinations 
of  Denis  and  myself  this  very  evening.  Come  straight 
back  after  delivering  this  very  cheerful  report  to  Miss 
Normanby.  By  that  time  he'll  be  with  me.  You 
needn't  fatigue  yourself  by  canvassing  this  evening." 

The  cashier  detected  a  slight  trace  of  meaning  in  the 
last  sentence,  but  ignored  it,  and  hurried  off  with  the 
letter.  When  he  got  back  he  found  Denis  in  the  private 
room,  enjoying  the  usual  comforts. 

"  Now,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  disclose  the  de- 
tails of  our  horrid  plot." 

The  blacksmith  cleared  his  throat,  looked  about  for  a 
likely  spot  on  which  to  spit,  and  after  deciding  on  the 
waste-paper  basket,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  began : 

"  Well,  Mister  Jackson,  the  way  of  it  was  this.  The 
evenin'  Miss  Nora  made  the  bull's-eye  with  the  turnip  — 
it's  a  pity  it  hadn't  been  a  stone  an'  took  the  old  boy 
six  inches  lower  —  Mr.  Wildridge  here  come  round  to 
me.  '  Denis,'  he  says,  '  we're  up  a  gum-tree.  If  old 
Judas  Iscariot  can  wreck  the  railway  it's  as  good  as 
done  with.' ' 

"  It  wasn't  exactly  that  way  I  put  it,"  said  the  man- 
ager ;  "  but  no  matter " 

"  '  Now,'  says  he,  *  if  the  company  floats,  the  rail- 
way'll  come  in,  I  think;  an'  railway  or  no  railway  the 
company  must  float,  for  I'll  not  have  a  good-lookin' 
girl  like  Miss  Nora  put  about  if  the  whole  district 
should  go  bankrupt.' ' 

The  blacksmith  winked  roguishly  at  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Go  on,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  laughing.  "  If  I 
didn't  say  it,  maybe  that  was  what  was  in  my  mind." 

" '  Well,'  says  Mr.  Wildridge,  *  we've  worked  the 
patriotic  dodge,  and  it's  done  well;  but  it  won't  carry 
us  through.' — '  An'  that's  true  enough,  sir,'  says  I ; 
*  the  hot  party  men  has  the  fun,  but  the  other  fellows 
has  the  money.' — '  But  if  ye  beat  the  old  drum,'  says 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       289 

Mr.  Wildridge,  *  they're  all  party  men.  Can  ye  do  it, 
Denis?  '  says  he.  '  For  that'll  work  the  oracle,  or  I'm 
badly  taken  in.' — '  It  will,  Mr.  Wildridge,'  says  I. 
*  The  only  time  ye  can  get  the  people  of  this  country  to 
work  together  for  the  good  of  it  is  when  they're  at  each 
other's  throats,  an'  if  I  haven't  them  guttin'  others  in 
two  days  I've  been  losing  my  time  in  this  town  for  forty 
years.' ' 

"  And  did  you  do  it,  Denis  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Did  I  what?  "  said  Denis  with  scorn.  "  Haven't  ye 
seen  the  shares  rollin'  in?  " 

"  But  how,  Denis  ?  "  persisted  the  cashier. 

"  As  easy  as  kiss  your  hand.  Listen.  Half  a  dozen 
words'll  tell  ye.  First  of  all  I  went  to  a  couple  of  Sinn 
Feiners.  *  Boys,'  says  I,  '  have  you  heard  what  old 
de  Bullevant  is  puttin'  his  money  in  the  company  for?  ' — 
'  No,'  says  they,  *  what?  ' — '  To  make  an  English  com- 
pany of  it,'  says  I ;  '  to  bring  over  Englishmen  from 
Yorkshire  an'  Lancashire  to  work  it,  an'  make  an  Eng- 
lish colony  of  the  place.  Another  Plantation,'  says  I, 

'  is  what  he's  after,  d n  all  else.  If  there's  a  man 

in  the  country  of  your  way  of  thinkin'  that  has  four- 
pence,'  says  I,  *  turn  him  upside  down  an'  shake  it  out 
of  his  pockets,  an'  put  it  in  the  company.  An'  write  far 
an'  wide  for  backin's.  For  the  man  that  has  the  shares 
is  the  man  that  runs  the  show.  If  you  want  an  Irish 
company,  put  that  in  your  pipe  an'  smoke  it.' —  Did 
there  come  in  one  or  two  cheques  signed  in  Irish  from 
the  West  an'  Dublin  way,  Mr.  Jackson?  " 

"  Twenty  at  least,"  answered  the  cashier. 

"  Aye,"  said  Denis,  with  a  satisfied  air.  "  That  was 
me;  with  the  divil  at  my  elbow  here."  He  glanced 
across  humorously  at  Mr.  Wildridge. 

"  No  compliments,  now,  Denis,"  said  the  manager. 

"  In  troth  I  shouldn't  compare  ye  to  him,"  said  Denis, 
raising  his  glass,  "  for  he  never  kept  a  drop  of  drink  like 
this  —  an'  as  far  as  I  hear  " —  he  set  down  the  empty 


290       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

glass  regretfully  — "  he  never  will.  But  to  get  on  with 
what  I  was  tellin'  you.  When  I  had  done  with  the  Sinn 
Feiners  I  went  round  to  our  own  lodge-room,  an'  took 
the  secretary  into  a  corner.  *  Peter,'  says  I,  '  do  you 
know  what's  going  on  in  this  town  under  your  very 
nose  ?  ' — *  No,'  says  he,  all  surprised,  '  what  ?  ' — '  Well,' 
says  I,  '  don't  make  me  any  the  worse  of  it ;  for  after 
all  a  Protestant  horse  has  to  wear  shoes  as  well  as  a 
Catholic  one,  but  I  have  it  from  a  dependable  man  of 
their  side  that  Mr.  de  Bullevant  has  called  a  meetin'  of 
the  Orange  Party,  an'  that  they're  set  on  makin'  the 
new  woolen  factory  a  Protestant  show  by  hook  or  by 
crook.'  Ye  could  have  seen  the  eyes  bulgin'  in  his  head. 
— '  The  infernal  schemer,'  he  says ;  '  at  the  old  ascend- 
ency game.  Now  that  the  farmer  has  got  from  in  under 
his  heel  he  wants  to  put  it  on  the  neck  of  the  workin' 
man.' — '  Ye  never  said  a  truer  word,'  says  I.  *  We'll 
get  the  dirty  work  to  do,  as  we  always  did;  but  as  far 
as  good  jobs  is  concerned,  the  divil  a  man  of  our  side'll 
get  to  be  as  much  as  a  foreman.' — *  I'll  have  a  word  to 
say  to  that,'  says  he,  leppin'  to  his  feet. — *  But  can  I 
depend  on  what  you  say,  Denis  ?  ' — *  Wait  till  to-mor- 
row night,'  says  I,  *  an'  if  you  don't  see  the  Orange 
band  out  beatin'  up  shareholders,  call  me  a  liar.' — '  I'll 
not  wait  till  to-morrow  night,'  says  he,  *  I'll  start 
this  minit.'  An'  away  he  went  out  of  the  door  like 
smoke." 

"  And  he  did  well  for  us  too,  Denis,"  said  the  man- 
ager. "  He  must  have  brought  over  a  thousand  pounds' 
worth  of  subscribers  actually  to  the  Bank  steps." 

"  Oh,  you  can  depend  on  Peter,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
"  at  anything  but  his  own  trade." 

"But  what  about  the  Orangemen,  Denis?"  asked 
Mr.  Jackson  eagerly.  "  You  didn't  tackle  them, 
surely  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not?  "  answered  the  blacksmith  with  triumph. 
"  It  was  the  easiest  job  of  the  lot.  I  went  across  to  the 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       291 

Worshipful  Master  of  the  Lodge  —  him  an*  me  is  ould 
friends,  him  bein'  in  the  coal  trade  an'  me  bein'  a  black- 
smith —  a  great  softener  of  party  bitterness,  I  may  tell 
ye  — '  William,'  says  I,  *  when  there  was  word  of  a  Sinn 
Fein  blacksmith  bein'  brought  to  the  town  two  years  ago, 
did  I  give  you  the  tip  or  did  I  not  ?  ' — '  Ye  did,  Denis,' 
says  he,  *  ye  did,  like  an  open-minded  man.  An'  I  put  a 
stop  to  him.' — '  That's  right,  William,'  says  I,  *  so  ye 
did.  Very  well.  The  Secretary  of  the  Hibernians  came 
round  to  me  half  an  hour  ago,  an'  asked  me  to  pledge 
myself  to  take  two  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  shares  in 
the  new  factory,  an'  told  me  if  I  did  the  game  was  in 
their  own  hands.  Can  ye  put  two  an'  two  together?  ' 
— *  Where's  my  hat,'  says  he,  lookin'  round  him  four 
ways  at  once. — '  An'  William,'  says  I,  '  the  Hibernian 
band  is  goin'  out  to  collect  the  boys  on  Thursday  night.' 
— *  Our  band'll  be  out  to-morrow  night,'  says  he,  settin' 
his  teeth.  An'  it  was. —  There's  the  whole  thing  for  ye 
now,  Mr.  Jackson.  I  may  tell  ye  that  the  town  knows 
that  Mr.  Normanby  won't  ask  to  take  shares  if  there's 
enough  demand  without  him.  Will  we  manage  it  before 
Wednesday,  Mr.  Wildridge?" 

"  We're  nearly  sure  to,"  answered  the  manager. 
"  We're  less  than  five  thousand  pounds  short  as  it  is, 
and  we  have  a  week  yet." 

"  If  you're  in  any  doubt  about  it,  Mr.  Wildridge," 
said  the  blacksmith,  "  Father  Kelly  is  presiding  at  a 
meeting  on  Saturday  night,  an'  I  could  get  him,  I  think, 
to  say  a  word  for  the  factory." 

"  If  Father  Kelly  says  a  word  for  the  factory,  Denis," 
said  the  manager,  "  the  Orange  party  will  take  up  the 
rest  of  the  shares  themselves." 

"  It's  as  good  as  sure,"  said  the  blacksmith. 

"You'll  be  hanged  yet,  Denis,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  That's  all." 

"  If  I  hadn't  learned  to  hold  my  tongue  from  I  was  a 
child,"  rejoined  the  blacksmith,  "  I'd  been  hanged  long 


292        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

ago. —  What  luck  about  the  railway,  Mr.  Wildridge?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  the  manager. 

"  It's  a  close  thing,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  purs- 
ing up  his  lips  dubiously.  "  The  directors  are  two  and 
two,  for  and  against  coming  in." 

"  And  the  old  fellow  with  the  tall  hat?  "  asked  Denis. 

"  Dead  against  us,"  said  the  manager.  "  But  you 
mustn't  let  Miss  Nora  hear  that." 

"  No  fear,"  returned  the  blacksmith.  "  She's  down 
in  the  mouth  enough  about  him  as  it  is.  But  it's  a  pity 
we  can't,"  said  Denis,  rubbing  his  shin,  "  for  she'll  break 
some  decent  man's  leg  yet. —  If  the  factory  goes  on, 
would  they  come  in,  do  you  think?  " 

"  There's  a  chance,  Denis,  a  bare  chance,"  said  the 
manager.  "  The  secretary  has  called  a  meeting  of  di- 
rectors for  next  Thursday,  and  if  I  can  wire  him  that 
the  shares  are  all  taken  up,  he'll  do  his  best. —  Denis," 
said  the  manager  thoughtfully,  "  did  you  hear  a  report 
in  the  town  that  if  the  railway  didn't  come  in  we  were 
going  to  build  a  pier  and  run  a  steamboat  service  from 
Belfast?" 

"  I  did  not,"  said  the  blacksmith  in  astonishment. 

"  Well,  could  you  hear  it  ? "  asked  the  manager. 
"  Because  if  you  could  I  would  mention  it  to  the  secre- 
tary of  the  railway  company,  and  it  might  help  the 
directors  to  come  to  a  decision." 

The  blacksmith  looked  hard  at  the  manager.  A  smile 
slowly  overspread  his  face.  He  took  the  manager's 
hand,  and  the  grip  he  gave  it  brought  tears  to  the 
owner's  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he  said,  "  with  two  men  like  you 
an'  me  workin'  for  this  factory  it'll  do." 

But  next  day  it  began  to  appear  as  if  political  ani- 
mosity had  shot  its  bolt.  There  was  a  heavy  falling  off 
in  applicants. 

"  This  is  the  way  one  lie  brings  on  another,  Jack- 
son," said  the  manager  after  returning  from  a  stroll  in 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        293 

the  town.  "  The  report  I've  started  about  the  pier  has 
created  doubt  as  to  whether  the  railway  is  coming  in,  in 
consequence  of  which  I'll  have  to  write  Miss  Nora 
Normanby  a  cheerful  perversion  of  the  truth  this  eve- 
ning. But  maybe  we'll  do  better  to-morrow." 

But  on  Friday  there  was  a  still  further  declension; 
and  on  Saturday  morning  Denis  reported  with  alarm 
that  owing  to  an  important  horse-race  in  England  the 
crowds  at  the  Hotel  corner  had  coalesced  the  previous 
night. 

"  The  politics  is  failin'  us,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said 
Denis.  "  But  we  can  romp  home  with  religion.  I'll 
try  and  manage  to  get  a  word  of  backin's  to  the  com- 
pany from  his  reverence  at  the  meetin'  to-night." 

"  Wait  till  we  see  how  we  do  to-day,  Denis,"  said  the 
manager.  "  The  odium  theologicum  is  the  last  resort." 

"What's  that  now?"  asked  the  blacksmith,  staring. 

"  It  has  been  neatly  phrased  as  *  Hating  one  another 
for  the  love  of  God,'  Denis,"  said  the  manager. 

"  Well,  it  was  an  Irishman  said  that,  Mr.  Wildridge," 
said  the  blacksmith  heartily.  "  For  this  is  the  country 
where  we  can  do  it  sevendably." 

"  It's  just  on  that  account,  Denis,"  said  the  manager, 
"  that  I've  some  scruples  about  availing  myself  of  our 
little  weakness  in  that  respect.  But  if  we  must  we  must. 
If  to-day  doesn't  do  better  for  us,  I'll  send  you  word 
by  Mr.  Jackson " 

"  And  I'll  do  the  rest,"  said  Denis  with  determination. 

"  The  old  ruffian,"  said  the  manager  to  Jackson  when 
the  blacksmith  had  gone.  "  He's  a  born  intriguer.  I 
hope  we'll  disappoint  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

BUT  Saturday  turned  out  worse  than  ever.     At 
the  end  of  the  day's  business  there  were  still 
almost  four  thousand  pounds  to  come  in.     The 
manager  dispatched  a   glowing  note   to   the   Rectory, 
and  directed  Mr.  Jackson  to  call  with  the  blacksmith 
on  his  way. 

His  determination  to  keep  away  from  Miss  Nora  till 
the  fate  of  the  company  was  decided  did  not  prevent  him 
from  enjoying  what  he  declared  to  himself  was  the 
purely  esthetic  pleasure  of  watching  her  walk  down  the 
path  from  church  on  the  Sunday  morning;  and  as  he 
skulked  behind  a  tombstone  for  that  purpose  he  was 
buttonholed  by  Mr.  Finnegan. 

"  Just  a  word,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  draper  in  a 
mysterious  whisper.  ("  Oh,  Lord,"  said  the  manager 
to  himself,  "  and  my  dinner's  at  two."  ) 

"  It  is  my  intention,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Finnegan,  raising 
his  voice  as  he  observed  the  churchyard  emptying,  "  to 
visit  your  office  to-morrow  and  apply  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  more  shares." 

"  Delighted  to  hear  it,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Finnegan,"  said 
the  manager.  "  That's  the  true  spirit.  Lovely  morn- 
ing, isn't  it !  "  He  edged  towards  the  gate. 

"  A  moment,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  draper,  "  till 
I  explain  to  you  what  I  think  I  may  say  are  the  weighty 
reasons  that  impel  me  to  this  step  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  advent  of  the  railway  to  our  town  is,  if  I  am  to 
believe  popular  rumor,  problematical."  ("It  can't  be 
helped,"  thought  the  manager  with  resignation,  "  but 
Jane  will  murder  me.") 

294 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        295 

"  I  have  only  this  morning  —  only  this  morning,"  re- 
peated Mr.  Finnegan  with  an  air  as  if  the  time  was  of 
great  significance,  "  unearthed  what  I  think  I  would  be 
j  ustified  in  calling  a  " —  Mr.  Finnegan  paused  and  sud- 
denly thrust  his  head  round  the  tombstone,  and  having 
satisfied  himself  that  there  was  nobody  on  the  other  side 
of  it,  whispered  histrionically  in  the  manager's  ear — • 
"  a  Romanist  plot." 

He  paused  again,  apparently  for  an  expression  of 
horror. 

But  the  manager  hadn't  been  in  a  bank  twenty  years 
for  nothing,  and  even  his  countenance  refused  to  ex- 
press anything. 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,"  resumed  Mr.  Finnegan,  "  that 
last  night,  under  the  guise  of  promoting  education,  the 
priest  of  this  parish  called  his  followers  together  and 
asked  them  to  support  our  woolen  factory  by  taking 
shares?  And  I  am  credibly  informed  that  he  promised 
he  would  apply  for  a  further  two  hundred  pounds' 
worth  of  shares  himself.  Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Finne- 
gan —  the  last  of  the  stragglers  had  disappeared  and 
his  voice  rose  oratorically  — "  I  am  a  moderate  man. 
I  detest  political  prejudice.  There  is  nothing  I  de- 
preciate —  I  think  the  word,  sir,  is  '  depreciate  ' —  so 
much.  I  have  built  up  what  my  pass-book  in  your  old- 
established  and  flourishing  institution  shows  to  be  a 
not  unprosperous  or  unprogressive  business,  by  taking 
any  man's  money  exclusive  of  his  political  views ;  but  I 
draw  the  line,  sir,  at  clerical  interference,  and  espe- 
cially clerical  interference  that  aims  at  depriving  our 
worthy  rector,  whose  churchwarden  I  have  been  since 
what  I  might  call  the  period  of  my  adolescence,  from 
manifesting  the  interest  he  has  always  disclosed  in  the 
welfare  of  this  town,  by  placing  his  name  on  the  share- 
holders' list.  He  has  been  insidiously  approached,  sir, 
and  has,  with  what  not  even  my  close  and  long-continued 
parochial  intimacy  with  him  can  prevent  me  designating 


296       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

foolishly,  consented  to  withdraw  his  candidature  for 
shares  if  they  are  all  otherwise  taken  up;  and  this  was 
the  hidden  and  concealed  object.  But  it  will  fail,  sir, 
it  will  not  succeed.  The  shares  will  all  be  applied  for 
before  the  close  of  the  eleventh  hour  at  three  o'clock 
on  Wednesday  " —  ("  Oh,  come  now,"  thought  the  man- 
ager, "  that's  something  even  if  the  roast  is  burnt  ")  — 
"  and  at  the  subsequent  meeting  of  the  directors,  of 
whom,  as  you  know  I  am  a  humble  —  er  —  coadjutor, 
I  hope  to  be  able  to  triumphantly  report  to  Mr.  Nor- 
manby,  who  with  a  few  of  the  largest  shareholders,  and 
I  trust  our  leading  bank  manager —  (The  trousers  will 
be  ready  before  the  end  of  the  week,  Mr.  Wildridge.  I 
am  flattered  by  your  esteemed  order,  sir)  — will,  I  am 
sure,  grace  the  occasion  by  his  presence,  that " — 
("  How  on  earth  does  he  avoid  losing  himself?  "  queried 
the  manager  to  himself)  — "  the  forces  of  law  and  order 
have  received  an  overwhelming  majority.  Oh,  my  gra- 
cious," exclaimed  the  draper,  glancing  at  his  watch  in 
dismay,  "  it's  past  two  o'clock,  and  I  am  accustomed  to 
partake  of  my  modest  —  er  —  luncheon  at  two  o'clock 
precisely.  My  wife,  Mrs.  Finnegan,  will  be  very  much 
annoyed.  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Wildridge  " —  he 
continued  to  shake  the  manager's  hand  as  he  spoke  — 
"you  will  excuse  me?  I  will  be  in  the  Bank  at  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow,  with  what  I  look  upon  as  my  widow's 
mite  towards  the  great  cause  of  civil  and  religious  lib- 
erty. Good-by,  sir,  good-by."  He  gave  the  manager's 
hand  a  last  convulsive  wring,  tripped  over  the  metal 
ticket  that  marked  somebody's  grave-plot,  staggered, 
recovered  himself,  and  as  he  drew  near  the  gate  glanced 
again  at  his  watch  and  broke  into  a  shambling  run. 

"Blast  him!"  ejaculated  the  manager  with  venom. 
"  I  hope  his  wife,  Mrs.  Finnegan,  gives  him  a  hot  dinner 
in  more  senses  than  one.  Begad,"  said  the  manager, 
rubbing  his  forehead  with  an  abstracted  air,  "  there's  a 
deal  to  be  said  for  the  bachelor  state.  If  Jane  is  too 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        297 

impudent  with  me  I  can  always  sack  her. —  That  will  do 
now,  Anthony,"  he  reproved  himself  sternly ;  "  none  of 
these  speculations  just  at  present.  The  company,  my 
boy,  the  company !  "  He  stepped  out  smartly  towards 
the  Bank.  "  And  if  there's  any  reliance  to  be  placed  in 
that  tautological  old  gas-bag,  I  think  our  last  card  is 
going  to  take  the  trick  !  " 

In  the  course  of  Monday's  business  over  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds'  worth  of  shares  were  applied  for,  the 
honors  being  decidedly  with  what  Mr.  Finnegan  called 
the  party  of  law  and  order.  On  Tuesday  about  twelve 
hundred  shares  were  subscribed,  the  party  positions 
being  reversed  as  the  result  of  Denis's  report  at  the  Hi- 
bernian Hall  on  Monday  night. 

"  Now,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  on  the  evening  of 
Tuesday,  "  all  we  need  is  thirteen  hundred  pounds  more. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  suggest  anything  in  the  nature  of 
deceit  to  a  man  of  your  probity;  but  if  you  could  lay 
your  hands  on  any  unprincipled  ruffian  who  would  con- 
vey to  each  of  the  powerful  parties  that  the  other  fel- 
lows were  just  leading  by  a  short  head,  I  think  I  could 
bring  the  smile  back  to  Miss  Nora's  face.  Do  you  know 
any  such  degraded  scoundrel?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Denis,  with  a  world  of  drollery  in  his 
wink,  "  and  he's  a  blacksmith  by  trade,  like  myself." 

"  Then  tell  your  fellow-directors  to  call  their  meeting 
for  four  o'clock  to-morrow  evening,"  said  the  manager. 
"  I  want  to  wire  the  secretary  of  the  railway  company 
some  time  before  five." 

"  Are  you  safe,  sir,  in  assuming  that  the  shares  will 
be  fully  applied  for  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jackson  anxiously, 
after  the  blacksmith  had  joyfully  departed. 

"  Jackson,  my  boy,"  said  the  manager,  "  under  a 
seared  and  sin-hardened  front  I  cherish,  to  my  secret 
discomfort,  some  lingering  sparks  of  what  was,  at  your 
time  of  life,  an  active  and  troublesome  conscience.  Out 
of  my  late  uncle's  bounty  I  have  set  aside  one  thousand 


298       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

pounds  to  invest  in  the  woolen  factory.  If  we're  short 
to-morrow  evening  I'll  make  up  the  deficit ;  if  the  shares 
are  fully  taken  up  I  will,  as  opportunity  arises,  relieve 
those  unfortunate  persons  that  under  the  influence  of 
the  political  devil  raised  by  Denis's  incantations  have 
applied  for  more  than  they  want,  by  buying  from  them 
at  par.  But  if  I  can  circumvent  our  top-hatted  and 
cantankerous  old  friend  over  the  railway  —  and  away 
in  the  back  of  my  head  I've  a  notion  that  I  can  —  I 
don't  think  many  of  them  will  wish  to  sell.  Now,  here's 
your  bulletin  for  Nora.  Don't  repeat  what  I've  been 
just  saying,  but  make  it  clear  to  her  that  all  doubt  is 
over." 

"  She'll  never  believe  it,  sir,  till  all  the  money  is  in," 
said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  For  a  big,  devil-may-care  girl 
like  Nora,  she's  in  an  awful  state  of  anxiety." 

"Is  she?"  said  the  manager  with  a  serious  face. 
"  The  poor  dear  girl.  Here,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "  give 
me  an  application  form.  Ten  per  cent,  on  application 
is  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds.  Where's  my  cheque- 
book? There  you  are,  Jackson,  my  son!"  The  man- 
ager picked  up  the  waste-paper  basket  and  kicked  it 
high  in  the  air,  caught  it  out  of  the  middle  of  a  shower 
of  papers  as  it  came  down,  and  punted  it  over  the  coun- 
ter. "  The  share-list  is  full,  our  task  is  at  an  end,  Mr. 
Normanby  is  free,  Miss  Nora  has  her  dowry;  and  to- 
morrow morning,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  manager  with 
a  bow  of  mock  formality  to  his  junior,  "  Mr.  Anthony 
Wildridge  will  attend  at  his  desk  as  usual  to  dispense 
wisdom  on  those  delicate  and  absorbing  questions  of 
the  relations  between  the  sexes  that  are  after  all  the 
only  serious  business  of  life." 

Mr.  Jackson  jumped  down  off  his  stool  and  came 
over  to  his  manager  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Will  you  shake,  sir?"  he  said  heartily.  They  ex- 
changed a  long,  firm  grip.  "  And  now,  sir,  give  me  the 
letter  for  Nora." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        299 

"  I  think,  Jackson,"  said  the  manager,  "  that  seeing 
you've  still  a  good  deal  to  do,  I'll  send  off  the  glad  news 
by  the  fair  hands  of  Jane." 

"  You  should  go  yourself,  sir,"  said  Jackson. 

But  the  manager  was  already  at  the  door  of  the  pri- 
vate room  and  affected  not  to  hear  him. 

"  Anthony,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  began  to  write, 
"  either  your  cashier  is  a  very  inexperienced  young  man 
or  he  doesn't  think  of  you  as  a  possible  competitor  at 
all.  But  if  he  hasn't  the  common  sense  to  keep  you 
away  from  the  emotional  crisis  at  hand  at  the  Rectory, 
I'm  relieved  to  find  that  you  are  wise  enough  to  keep 
away  yourself.  It  is  true,  my  dear  fellow,  that  your 
very  strong  desire  to  go,  and  your  low  cunning  in  sub- 
stituting Jane  for  Mr.  Jackson,  are  disquieting  symp- 
toms of  your  condition;  and  I  really  must  remind  you 
pointedly  that  till  the  railway  company  arrives  at  a 
decision  your  vow  holds.  Meditation  on  that  question 
is  forbidden.  It's  going  to  be  a  devil  of  a  struggle 
when  it  comes  —  pull  bachelorhood,  pull  matrimony, 
pull  Nora,  pull  —  say,  Horace.  Don't  anticipate  it. 
In  the  meantime  a  state  of  uncertainty  has  its  charm." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  Committee-room  of  the  Town  Hall  was  al- 
most uncomfortably  full.  It  had  been  in- 
tended to  confine  the  meeting  to  directors  and 
a  few  of  the  larger  subscribers;  for  a  public  meeting 
Michael  Brannegan,  mindful  of  the  last,  would  not  hear 
of  till  the  shares  were  allotted  and  the  company  under 
way;  but  speculation  and  excitement  had  run  so  high 
on  the  closing  day  for  applications  that  the  town  had 
presented  the  appearance  of  market-day  from  early 
morning,  and  the  rendezvous  had  leaked  out.  Not  a 
single  specimen  of  "  riff-raff  "  had,  however,  been  able 
to  escape  Michael's  lynx  eye  and  brawny  arm.  The 
audience  was  entirely  composed  of  prospective  share- 
holders. In  the  second  row  of  seats  sat  the  directors, 
calm  in  their  knowledge  of  a  successful  flotation;  and 
each  man  looking,  as  he  doubtless  felt,  that  his  agree- 
able consummation  was  really  due  to  his  exertions. 
The  blacksmith,  over  whose  bosom  business  considera- 
tions had  begun  to  resume  their  sway,  was  alone  in  a 
widespread  disclaimer  to  any  part  in  the  success.  In 
the  front  seat  sat  Mr.  Normanby,  frail  but  cheerful, 
with  his  daughter  close  to  his  side,  looking,  except  for 
a  momentary  flicker  of  an  eyelid  as  she  caught  Denis's 
glance,  almost  disconsolate. 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  feel  like  turning  somersaults," 
said  poor  Nora  to  the  manager  before  the  proceedings 
began,  "  and  I  would,  too,  if  I  hadn't  still  to  tell  dad 
that  the  fortune  is  up  a  tree.  And  there's  Percy  in  the 
room.  I  know  I  won't  have  much  trouble  with  him 
when  that  piece  of  news  gets  about ;  but  there's  a  horrid 
proposing  kind  of  a  look  in  his  eye ;  and  if  he  proposes 

300 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       301 

to  me  to-night,  I'll  feel  like  smacking  him  in  the  face; 
and  I  expect  that  would  hardly  do."  A  little  smile 
trembled  on  her  lips. 

"  It  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  declared  the  manager ;  "  and 
rather  than  have  it  happen,  I'll  sit  beside  you  myself 
when  I've  spoken  my  piece." 

"  I  thought  of  asking  you  to  do  that,"  said  Miss 
Nora  with  just  a  hint  of  the  old  sauciness ;  "  but  I  was 
too  shy,"  she  whispered. 

"  Steady,  Anthony,"  said  the  manager  to  himself. 
"  Keep  your  head. 

"  There's  Michael  nodding  at  me,  Nora,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "  All  right,  Mr.  Brannegan. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  Miss  Nora,  and  Gentlemen,"  he 
said,  standing  up  — "  I  am  not  here  to  make  a  speech, 
but  merely  to  announce  that  the  public  spirit  and  pa- 
triotism of  your  town  and  district,"  Denis  and  he  ex- 
changed a  momentary  glance,  "  have  resulted  in  an 
overwhelming  success.  At  three  o'clock  this  evening 
the  share  capital  of  the  Portnarnuck  Woolen  Factory, 
Ltd.,  was  oversubscribed  for  by  eleven  hundred  pounds." 
And  the  manager  sat  down. 

"  Hould  on,  now,  boys  " —  Michael  raised  a  hand 
about  the  size  of  a  ham  — "  I  want  to  tell  ye  that  we  got 
that  money  independent  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Norman- 
by's  offer  to  take  shares ;  and  that  as  soon  as  he  heard 
that  he  stood  down  so  as  to  let  us  have  it  all  among 
ourselves,  like  the  gentleman  he  is.  I  wish,"  said 
Michael  bitterly,  "  there  was  more  of  yez  like  him. 
Three  cheers  for  him  now,  boys ;  and  the  man  that  gets 
dry  cheerin'  can  wet  his  whistle  afterwards  at  my  ex- 
pense. Hould  on  till  I  get  on  my  feet." 

A  momentary  pause  followed  while  Michael  struggled 
with  the  arm-chair.  Mr.  Finnegan  coughed  and  took  a 
calculating  glance  at  him. 

"  Cheer  loike  h — 1,  boys,"  came  an  agonized  whisper 
from  Terry  at  the  back  of  the  room,  "  an'  don't  wait 


302        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

on  the  boss.  There's  ould  Finnegan  up-endin'  himself 
to  speak,  and  before  he  quits,  bedambut  it'll  be  closin' 
toime." 

A  hurricane  of  cheering  and  laughter  arose,  and  con- 
tinued for  several  minutes.  Mr.  Normanby  rose  to  his 
feet  and  after  bowing  to  the  audience  shook  Michael 
warmly  by  the  hand.  The  manager  could  see  that  he 
was  trembling  a  little. 

"Can  he  stand  the  excitement,  Nora?"  he  asked 
with  anxiety. 

"  Dad's  all  right,"  answered  Nora  confidently. 
"  He's  going  to  speak,  though.  He  always  shakes  a 
little  before  he  starts.  Look  at  his  dear  old  face. 
He's  as  proud  as  a  peacock.  You're  a  brick,"  she  said 
with  a  swift  pressure  of  the  manager's  arm.  '*  It  would 
have  been  a  sin  to  cheat  him  of  his  triumph. —  Listen." 

She  gazed  up  eagerly  at  her  father,  her  lips  parted, 
love  and  admiration  shining  in  her  eyes.  The  manager 
was  looking  at  her,  and  for  all  he  cared  at  the  moment 
every  manuscript  of  Horace  might  have  been  burnt  at 
Alexandria. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  Miss  Nora,"  Mr.  Normanby  bowed 
to  his  daughter  with  a  little  tender  smile,  "  and  Gen- 
tlemen, —  I  should  be  ungrateful  if  I  did  not  feel  my 
old  heart  warmed  to-night.  Out  of  the  bounty  that 
Providence  has  lately  bestowed  on  me  " —  a  swift  pity- 
ing glance  transformed  Nora's  face  — "  I  had  hoped 
to  assist  you  in  your  praiseworthy  enterprise.  I 
should  have  esteemed  it  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  do 
so.  But  I  am  proud  and  happy  to  waive  the  privilege. 
For  you  have  done  a  great  thing,  my  dear  friends  and 
neighbors.  You  have  learned  the  lesson  of  self-help 
and  unity.  I  see  around  me  here  men  of  all  creeds 
and  classes  united  in  a  common  enterprise  for  the  good 
of  our  country,  and  succeeding  without  aid  from  Gov- 
ernment or  —  or  plutocrat  " —  he  smiled  whimsically 
*' —  and  I  augur  much  from  this  beginning. 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       303 

**It  is  true  you  have  refused  my  offer;  but  in  the 
glorious  circumstances  that  accompany  your  refusal,  I 
have  concluded  to  lay  aside  my  natural  indignation." 
A  little  ripple  of  laughter  answered  his  expectant  look. 
"  And  to  show  you  that  I  bear  no  malice,  I  will  ask  a 
favor  of  you  all.  I  am  told  that  the  Railway  Company 
are  so  shortsighted  as  not  to  see  even  yet  that  they 
should  continue  their  line  hither.  And  I  am  told  also 
that  like  the  high-spirited  and  independent  men  I  have 
always  known  you  to  be,  you  are  going  to  defy  this 
mighty  Railway  Company  and  to  build  a  pier." 

("  Oh,  my  heavens!  "  said  the  manager.) 

"  Towards  the  building  of  that  pier  I  will  subscribe 
the  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds  that  I  promised  to  the 
woolen  factory." 

The  cheering  was  still  going  on  as  Miss  Nora  and  the 
manager  came  out  on  the  landing.  The  manager  looked 
at  her  with  eyebrows  uplifted  in  comical  despair. 

"  Don't  look  at  me ;  please,  don't  look  at  me,"  she 
said,  a  little  hysterically.  "  If  you  do  I'll  begin  to 
laugh;  and  if  I  laugh,  I  know  I'll  cry.  You'd  better 
give  us  up,  Mr.  Wildridge  " —  with  forlorn  resigna- 
tion — "  we're  hopeless.  Oh,"  she  said  wrathfully,  "  I 
do  love  my  Dad  as  much  as  any  girl  in  the  world;  but 
can't  he  be  an  old  idiot  when  he  likes." 

"  Nora,  my  child,"  said  the  manager  in  mock  se- 
verity, "  am  I  in  charge  of  this  party  still  or  am  I  not  ? 
And  if  so,  will  you  continue  to  obey  orders?  " 

"  Right-oh,"  answered  Miss  Nora  meekly.  "  I'll  do 
whatever  you  say." 

"  That's  the  girl,"  said  the  manager.  "  Well,  then, 
would  you  mind  contemplating  the  statuesque  beauty 
of  my  classical  features  in  repose  while  I  meditate  for 
about  two  minutes  ?  " 

Nora  nodded  in  silence. 

*'  I  have  it,  Nora,"  cried  the  manager  in  high  excite- 
ment ;  "  by  Jove,  I  have  it ! "  He  whipped  a  notebook 


304.       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

and  pencil  out  of  his  pocket.  "  Wait  till  I  draft  a  let- 
ter. If  I've  got  your  father  out  of  one  hole,  he's  got 
me  out  of  another."  He  scribbled  rapidly  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  "  Listen,  Nora." 

"  THE  SECRETARY  OF  THE  ULJDIAN  RAILWAY  Co. 

"  DEAR  SIR, —  Following  my  wire  of  to-day  advising 
you  that  share  capital  of  Woolen  Factory  is  oversub- 
scribed, I  beg  to  say  that  the  proposal  to  build  a  pier 
and  establish  a  steamboat  service  from  Belfast  has  now 
taken  shape,  and  that  Rev.  Mr.  Normanby  has  prom- 
ised ten  thousand  pounds  to  the  venture,  which  practi- 
cally assures  its  success. 

"  If  the  Railway  comes  in  I  believe  I  can  still  stop  the 
pier ;  but  wire  me  result  of  to-morrow's  meeting  at  earli- 
est possible  moment." 

"  Wait  now,  Nora,  till  I  write  the  telegram." 

"  You're  a  divil,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  voice  of 
the  blacksmith  from  behind  him ;  "  by  the  hokey,  you're 
a  divil.  That'll  fetch  them ;  I  think  that'll  fetch  them." 

"  Of  course  it'll  fetch  them,  Denis,"  cried  Miss  Nora, 
skipping  round  the  landing  like  a  mad  thing.  "  And 
if  I  can  only  get  Dad  safely  home  and  locked  up  he's 
saved  once  more.  Oh,  Denis,  you  old  black-faced  angel, 
I  could  hug  you." 

She  caught  the  blacksmith  by  one  horny  hand  and 
swung  him  round  her  at  arm's  length. 

"  Easy,  Miss  Nora,  for  the  love  of  goodness,"  cried 
Denis  in  alarm.  "  You'll  have  me  down  the  stairs !  " 

"  Send  for  a  top  hat  quick,  Denis,"  said  the  manager 
wickedly ;  "  Miss  Normanby  is  excited. —  And,  by 
George,  I'll  have  a  shot  at  it  too. —  Listen,  children," 
continued  the  manager,  "  I  don't  mind  admitting  it  now 
that  our  rascality  has  prospered;  but  I've  felt  very 
guilty  over  this  flotation.  We've  set  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood by  the  ears,  and  induced  scores  of  decent  peo- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       305 

pie  to  risk  their  money  in  the  concern  that  had  no  no- 
tion of  doing  it." 

"  It's  a  God's  charity,"  said  the  blacksmith ;  "  they're 
a  hungry  pack  about  here,  anyway.  And  it  has  been 
the  best  bit  of  sport  I've  had  these  ten  years.  If  it 
wasn't  for  Miss  Nora  I  wish  we  could  go  on  with  the 
pier." 

"  You're  a  wicked  old  conspirator,  Denis,"  said  the 
manager  sanctimoniously.  "  But  although  you  did  lead 
me  astray  once,  I  have  since  seen  the  error  of  my 
ways. —  And  now,  Nora,  it's  as  good  as  certain  that  the 
Railway  Company  will  come  in " 

"  They'll  come  in  as  sure  as  there's  an  eye  in  a  goat," 
interposed  the  blacksmith. 

"  And  in  any  case  Denis  has  decided  that  he  won't 
support  a  pier,  which  settles  that  question.  So  go 
home  and  make  your  mind  easy.  About  two  or  three 
o'clock  to-morrow  I'll  send  you  the  secretary's  wire, 
and  I  think  the  sooner  after  that  you  break  the  news  of 
the  vanished  fortune  to  your  father  the  better.  I'd  do 
it  for  you,  Nora ;  but  I  think  your  father  would  feel  it 
less  if  he  thought  the  circumstances  were  only  known 
to  you  and  himself.  All  he  need  say  to  the  public  is 
that  he  was  misled  by  a  foreign  agent." 

"  And  I'll  give  out  in  the  town  that  it  was  that  mon- 
key-faced wee  foreigner  was  here  in  the  spring  has  run 
away  with  the  whole  lot,"  added  Denis. 

"  If  your  conscience,  Denis  —  and  I  have  little  doubt 
of  it,"  said  the  manager  gravely,  " — will  permit  you, 
it  might  do  no  harm. —  And  for  a  last  instruction,  Nora, 
since  I'm  still  in  command:  you  will  receive  to-morrow 
in  time  to  take  the  edge  off  your  father's  bad  news,  a 
provisional  offer  from  the  Directors  of  the  factory  of 
three  thousand  pounds  for  the  site  and  buildings  that 
Mr.  de  Bullevant  has  so  kindly  confirmed  the  title  of; 
and  I  advise  your  father  to  accept  it. 

"  I  think  that's  all,  Nora,"  concluded  the  manager. 


306       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  You  will  now  please,"  he  stepped  behind  her  and  laid 
a  hand  on  each  shoulder,  "  make  a  very  nice  curtsy  to 
Mr.  O'Flaherty,  who  has  incurred  not  a  day  less  than 
ten  extra  years  of  purgatory  on  your  behalf  —  very 
nice  indeed  —  and  then  like  a  good  child  you  will  return 
and  look  after  the  welfare  of  your  aged  parent."  He 
opened  the  door  with  one  hand,  pressing  her  almost  im- 
perceptibly to  him  with  the  other.  "  Good-by,  big 
girl,"  he  whispered,  and  pushed  her  gently  into  the 
room. 

"  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  as  he  shut  the  door,  "  I 
observe  that  our  friend  Mr.  Finnegan  is  at  present  la- 
boring at  the  foundations  of  the  pier  that  we  have  just 
blown  to  smithereens.  I  think  we'll  not  go  in." 

"  We  won't,"  said  Denis.  "  It  was  that  drove  me 
out.  She's  a  very  fine  girl,  Miss  Nora,"  he  observed 
as  they  descended  the  stairs. 

"  She's  a  very  fine  girl  indeed,  Denis,"  answered  the 
manager  brightly. 

"  I  noticed  that  she  didn't  thank  you  there  now,  Mr. 
Wildridge,"  said  Denis  in  a  meditative  way ;  "  but  if  she 
didn't  she  gave  you  a  very  nice  kind  of  a  look." 

"  Did  she,  Denis  ?  "  said  the  manager,  "  I  never  ob- 
served it." 

"  They  had  it  goin'  in  this  town,"  went  on  Denis, 
"  that  Mr.  Jackson  was  for  marryin'  Miss  Nora." 

"  I  heard  something  of  it,"  answered  the  manager. 

"  They're  wrong  then,"  said  Denis.  "  It's  Mrs. 
Woodburn's  daughter  he's  after  now.  He's  been  sneak- 
ing after  her  this  good  while.  That  was  where  he  was 
when  he  should  have  been  huntin'  up  shares.  I  seen  him 
on  the  shore  last  night  kissin'  her ;  and  there  come  a  ring 
through  the  post  for  him  the  day  before  yesterday. 
She's  not  wearin'  it  yet;  but  there's  a  piece  of  ribbon 
round  her  neck  these  last  two  days,  and  I  wouldn't 
wonder  but  the  ring's  at  the  end  of  it.  The  mother 
wouldn't  want  her  to  have  anything  to  do  with  a  bank 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       307 

clerk ;  so  I  suppose  the  pair  of  them'll  hold  out  till  the 
young  one  comes  into  her  uncle's  money." 

"  The  d d  young  villain,"  exclaimed  the  manager, 

roused  out  of  his  impassiveness,  as  a  hitherto  unac- 
knowledged cloud  of  misgiving  rose  from  his  mind,  "  and 
so  that's  where  he's  been  all  these  nights.  He  never 
gave  me  even  a  hint  of  it,  Denis." 

"Maybe  he  didn't  like  to  give  in  he'd  changed  his 
mind  so  sudden,"  said  Denis.  "  And  he  wasn't  too  well 
satisfied  over  what  he'd  done  in  the  way  of  gettin'  in 
shares." 

"  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  you  didn't  happen  to 
hear  any  talk  about  me  in  the  town?  " 

"  Divil  a  word,"  answered  Denis ;  "  except  that  it  was 
a  wonder  you  be  seen  lowerin'  yourself  walkin'  about 
with  a  blacksmith." 

The  manager  laughed  heartily. 

"  I'll  chance  that,  Denis,"  he  said,  clapping  the  black- 
smith on  the  shoulder.  "  Do  you  really  think,  Denis," 
he  went  on  with  an  air  of  abstraction,  "  that  my  rascal 
of  a  cashier  has  deserted  Miss  Nora  for  Miss  Wood- 
burn?" 

"  There's  no  mortal  manner  of  doubt  about  it,"  an- 
swered the  blacksmith.  "  An'  Miss  Nora's  not  losin' 
much  flesh  over  it,  as  you  might  notice.  Maybe  she  has 
a  better  man  in  her  eye." 

The  manager  walked  to  the  end  of  the  street  before 
he  spoke. 

"  Denis,"  he  said  at  length.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  ancient  Germans  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  the  Prooshians,  Mr.  Wildridge?" 
asked  the  blacksmith.  "  Or  was  it  before  their  time  ?  " 

"  It  was  some  hundreds  of  years  before,"  said  the 
manager. 

"  Oh,  then  they  were  good  men,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  All  the  ould  fellows  ye  read  about  in  them  days  was 
good  men,  especially  in  the  country  you're  standin'  in. 


308       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

Or  anyway  they  were  good  liars  about  themselves ;  an* 
that  comes  to  very  much  the  same  thing,  now  that 
there's  nobody  to  contradict  them." 

"  I've  seen  it  expressed  something  in  the  same  way  by 
an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  manager.  "  But  to  go 
on  with  what  I  intended  to  say:  these  old  Germans, 
when  they  were  confronted  by  a  difficult  problem,  had 
an  excellent  rule  of  discussing  it  twice  —  once  drunk 
and  once  sober " 

"  And  I'd  go  bail  ye  they  made  no  more  mistakes  than 
their  neighbors,"  put  in  the  blacksmith. 

"  Now  I've  a  trifling  matter  giving  me  some  trouble 
just  at  the  moment,"  said  the  manager;  "  and  assuming 
that  the  railway  business  settles  itself  to-morrow,  I 
thought  of  trying  the  first  part  of  the  old  German  plan 
over  a  glass  of  wine  in  the  evening.  And  seeing  that 
drinking  alone  is  dull  work,  maybe,  Denis,  you  would 
drop  in  about  seven  o'clock." 

"Was  it  wine,  you  said,  Mr.  Wildridge?  "  inquired 
the  blacksmith  without  any  great  show  of  enthusiasm. 

*'  If  you  think  you  could  meditate  better  on  whisky, 
Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  I  have  still  some  of 
Michael's  case  left." 

"  If  you  hear  anybody  batterin'  at  the  Bank  door 
about  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  night,"  said  the  black- 
smith, "  it'll  be  me.  Good-by  to  ye  now,  sir.  I  just 
want  to  dander  round  by  the  forge  before  I  go  on  to  the 
Hotel.  It's  a  pity  you  have  a  position  to  keep  up,  Mr. 
Wildridge;  for  there'll  be  big  crack  in  Michael's  this 
night." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  manager  pushed  his  chair  a  little  back  from 
the  dining-table,  poured  out  a  glass  of  spar- 
kling wine,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"  It's  only  gooseberry,  my  dear  Anthony,"  he  said. 
"  At  the  price,  it  couldn't  be  anything  else ;  but  it  will 
serve.  And  even  if  it  is  only  gooseberry,  by  Jove,  I'll 
have  a  cigar  with  it." 

He  carried  the  bottle  and  glass  over  to  a  small  table 
by  the  fireplace,  threw  himself  back  in  an  arm-chair,  and 
drew  half  a  dozen  luxurious  puffs. 

"  Now,  Anthony,  my  son,"  he  meditated  within  him- 
self, "  let  us  reason  together ;  and  first  of  all  from  the 
purely  selfish  point  of  view.  Here,  simply  on  account 
of  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  for  a  matter  of  several  weeks  you 
have  plunged  yourself  into  a  whirlpool  of  effort  and 
worry  and  anxiety ;  you  have  neglected  your  business ; 
and  have  aroused  animosities  that  will  hardly  die  down 
in  your  time.  But  you  have  been  successful.  The 
company  is  floated,  and  the  railway  is  coming,  which 
makes  the  prosperity  of  the  factory  almost  certain. 
And  now  that  your  troubles  are  over,  and  sweet  peace 
has  come  again,  are  you  going  to  be  fool  enough  to 
commit  yourself  to  the  thousand  irritations  of  matri- 
mony ?  Oh,  I  know ;  I  hear  the  inward  advocatus  matri- 
monii  controverting  that  view  of  the  estate.  But  what 
do  the  authorities  say?  Remember  old  La  Rochefou- 
cauld: '  He  may  count  himself  a  lucky  man  who  is  only 
once  a  day  sorry  that  he  took  unto  himself  a  wife.' 
Where's  the  book  ?  "  The  manager  wandered  up  and 
down  before  his  shelves.  "  And  begad,"  he  cried  in  a 

309 


310       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

pet,  "  he's  a  happy  man  that  hasn't  occasion  to  com- 
plain ten  times  a  day  that  he  has  a  meddling  old  house- 
keeper who  will  keep  shifting  the  position  of  his  books, 
for  all  he  can  say.  A  fig  for  La  Rochefoucauld. 

"  Let's  try  Sir  Thomas :  *  I  was  never  yet  once,  and 
commend  their  resolutions  who  never  marry  twice.'  He 
married  all  the  same,  and  —  the  old  hypocrite  " —  the 
manager  read  down  the  paragraph,  smiling  — "  begat 
sons  and  daughters.  Here's  old  Fuller  should  have 
something  wise  to  say :  '  Deceive  not  thyself  by  over 
expecting  happiness  in  the  married  estate ' —  ah,  now, 
this  is  germane  to  the  matter.  '  Look  not  therein  for 
contentment  greater  than  God  will  give,  or  a  creature  in 
this  world  can  receive,  namely,  to  be  free  from  all  incon- 
veniences. Marriage  is  not  like  the  hill  Olympus,  wholly 
clear  without  clouds ;  yea,  expect  both  wind  and  storm 
sometimes,  which  when  blown  over,  the  air  is  clearer  and 
wholesomer  for  it.'  Yea,  verily,  my  dear  old  worthy; 
but  in  the  meantime  your  top  hat  has  suffered  disaster, 
and  will  never  be  the  same  hat  again.  '  Let  there  be 
no  great  disproportion  in  age.'  .  Ha,  my  friend ;  where's 
the  antidote  to  that  ?  'I  wish  to  all  married  people  the 
outward  happiness  which  (anno  1605)  happened  to  a 
couple  in  the  city  of  Delpht,  in  Holland,  living  most  lov- 
ingly together  seventy-five  years  in  wedlock,  till  the  man 
being  one  hundred  and  three,  the  woman  ninety-nine 
years  of  age,  died  within  three  hours  each  of  other,  and 
were  buried  in  the  same  grave.' 

"  Come,  that's  better,  except  for  that  nasty  little  flick 
'  outward.'  As  time  went  on  the  situation  would  im- 
prove. Let  me  see:  Nora  would  be  eighty-four  then, 
and  there'd  be  nothing  in  it  at  all.  Yes,  that  would 
do  when  I  was  a  hundred  and  three.  What  about  when 
I'm  thirty-eight?  We  must  look  further  into  the  mat- 
ter, Anthony.  Here,  you  old  ruffian  " —  the  manager 
reached  down  a  tall  folio.  "  '  Yea,  but,'  said  Panurge, 
'  I  shall  never  by  any  other  means  come  to  have  lawful 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK        311 

sons  and  daughters,  in  whom  I  may  harbor  some  hope 
of  perpetuating  my  name  and  arms,  and  to  whom  I  may 
leave  and  bequeath  my  inheritance ' —  as  like  as  not 
from  an  uncle,"  said  the  manager  — "  *  and  purchased 
goods,  that  so  I  may  cheer  up  and  make  merry  when 
otherwise  I  should  be  plunged  in  a  peevish  mood  of  pen- 
sive sullenness.  .  .  .  For  being  free  of  debt,  and  yet 
not  married,  if  casually  I  should  fret  or  be  angry' — 
say  over  a  woolen  factory,"  interjected  the  manager  — 
" '  I  am  afraid,  instead  of  consolation,  that  I  should 
meet  with  nothing  else  but  scuffs,  frumps,  gibes,  and 
mocks  at  my  misadventure.' 

"And  if  I  had  muddled  the  flotation,  and  been  de- 
tected and  kicked  out  of  the  town,  and  maybe  out  of  the 
Bank,  I  wonder  who  would  really  have  sympathized 
with  me,  except  Nora.  I  begin  to  perceive,"  said  the 
manager,  pouring  out  another  glass,  "  that  this  goose- 
berry is  likely  to  prove  a  one-sided  advocate.  Come  in, 
Jane.  Yes,  you  may  clear. 

"  A  happy  notion,"  thought  the  manager  suddenly ; 
"  I'll  consult  the  Sybil.  She's  sure  to  be  against  it. 
But  I'd  better  wait  till  she  sets  down  that  trayful  of 
dishes. 

"  Jane,"  he  said,  "  would  it  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
I  was  thinking  it  was  time  I  was  married?  " 

But  Jane  hadn't  been  going  about  the  town  all  day 
with  her  ears  closed;  and  bowed  in  the  house  of  Rim- 
mon. 

"  Not  a  bit,  Master  Anthony,"  she  returned  com- 
posedly, brushing  up  the  crumbs.  "  What  do  you  imagj 
ine  I  bought  the  two  pillows  for  your  bed  for,  when 
you  were  furnishing  ?  " 

"  There's  a  most  damnable  lack  of  reticence  about  a 
widow,"  said  the  manager  to  himself  testily. 

"  You  should  have  been  married  years  ago,"  went  on 
Jane,  busying  herself  about  the  sideboard.  "  Your 
father  had  his  family  near  reared  at  your  time  of  life." 


313        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"Then  you  wouldn't  object,  Jane?  "  asked  the  man- 
ager. 

"  Not  a  bit,  Master  Anthony,"  said  Jane,  opening 
the  door,  "  so  long  as  you  didn't  fetch  some  old  hussy 
into  the  house  that'd  never  have  her  neb  out  of  the 
kitchen.  Marry  some  spunky  young  girl  that  won't 
let  you  go  on  clockin'  over  them  old  books;  and  I'll 
keep  the  house  goin'  while  the  pair  of  yez  is  out  playin' 
yourselves.  Lord  bless  us,  who's  that  batterin'  at  the 
door?" 

"  I  expect  it's  Denis  O'Flaherty,"  answered  the  man- 
ager, looking  at  his  watch. 

"  An'  it  would  put  ye  off  the  habit  of  keepin'  low 
company,"  said  Jane  with  a  sniff,  as  she  went  out  bear- 
ing the  tray. 

"  H'm,"  said  the  manager  to  himself.  "  So  Jane  fol- 
lows the  gooseberry.  If  Denis  is  briefed  on  the  same 
side,  I'm  a  ruined  man.  Come  in,  Denis ;  you're  not  up 
to  time  after  all." 

"  I  was  kept  back  a  bit  in  Michael's,"  answered  the 
blacksmith.  "  There's  great  stir  on  about  poor  ould 
Mr.  Normanby's  misfortune,  and  we've  been  deliberatin' 
a  bit  over  it." 

"  In  the  ancient  German  fashion,  I  fancy,"  said  the 
manager,  looking  critically  at  him. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  blacksmith ;  *'  as  far  as  three 
rounds  of  drinks  went." 

"  And  the  result,  Denis  ?  " 

"  There's  great  sympathy  with  the  ould  gentleman," 
said  the  blacksmith ;  "  the  real  kind  of  sympathy,  the 
sort  that  costs  money.  Takin'  into  account  that  'twas 
his  example  set  the  thing  on  its  legs,  they're  goin'  to 
offer  him  an  extra  two  hundred  for  the  site  an'  the 
buildings." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  it's 
generous  of  the  Directors,  unexpectedly  generous. 
We'll  drink  their  health.  Reach  for  the  bottle." 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       313 

**  I  never  knew  the  like  of  it  before,"  said  the  black- 
smith, helping  himself  extensively.  "  The  sky  must  be 
goin'  to  fall.  And  you'd  never  believe  who  proposed  it. 
Michael,  by  heavens ;  Michael  himself.  An'  that's  not 
all,  either.  There's  a  regular  union  of  hearts  over  the 
business.  There's  to  be  a  torchlight  procession  of  sym- 
pathy up  to  the  Rectory  on  Saturday  night,  composed 
of  all  parties,  and  headed  by  the  Orange  band  an'  the 
Hibernian  band,  playin'  time  about  owin'  to  the  Rever- 
end gentleman  not  bein'  in  the  best  of  health;  an'  to 
save  any  friction  they're  to  toss  for  who'll  go  first.  The 
like  was  never  known  in  my  time.  As  ould  Finnegan 
put  it  to  me,  *  it's  the  lion,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  lyin' 
down  with  the  lamb.'  Ye  needn't  be  worryin'  yourself, 
Mr.  Wildridge,  about  the  wee  bit  of  ill-feelin'  you  an' 
me  raised,  when  it's  dyin'  down  like  this." 

"  I'm  afraid  by  Sunday  they'll  be  as  bad  as  ever, 
Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  unless  times  are  greatly 
changed." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  I  don't  know. 
There's  some  of  them  sayin'  to-night  that  all  the 
farmers  that  has  shares'll  be  bandin'  together  to  keep 
up  the  price  of  wool,  and  that  the  townsmen  of  all  par- 
ties should  unite  against  them.  I  don't  know  what's 
comin'  over  the  world  at  all,"  continued  the  blacksmith 
gloomily.  "  If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  the  politics  of 
this  country'll  be  as  dull  as  ditch-water.  We'll  be  little 
better  than  Englishmen."  And  Denis,  appalled  at  the 
prospect,  took  a  long  pull  at  his  glass.  "  Oh,  aye,"  he 
said  brightening,  "  an'  I  met  Mr.  Percy  this  afternoon, 
headin'  for  the  Rectory." 

"  Yes,  Denis,"  said  the  manager  with  interest. 

"  Well,  to  save  Miss  Nora  any  trouble  I  told  him  the 
sad  news,"  said  the  blacksmith,  twinkling  a  little. 
"  And  I  think  maybe  I  saved  him  trouble  too ;  for  he 
turned  and  went  home.  Not  that  I  would  poke  my  nose 
into  anybody's  business,"  said  Denis,  looking  at  the  ceil- 


314       MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

ing  in  an  ostentatiously  detached  manner ;  "  but  says  I 
to  myself  as  I  saw  the  tails  of  his  coat,  '  that's  another 
man  down.'  Tell  me,  did  ye  tackle  Mr.  Jackson  yet 
about  that  wee  matter  I  told  you  of?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  the  manager,  "  this  very  day ;  partly 
out  of  sheer  badness,  and  partly  to  distract  my  mind 
till  the  secretary's  wire  came  in." 

"  Well,"  asked  the  blacksmith,  "  an'  was  I  right?  " 

"  You  were,  Denis,"  answered  the  manager,  "  quite 
right.  My  excellent  and  worthy  cashier  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Woodburn.  Good  luck  to  them  both.  Here,  be- 
gad, we'll  drink  their  health." 

"  Mr.  Wildridge,"  said  the  blacksmith,  wiping  his 
mouth  with  a  handful  of  very  grimy  cotton  waste, 
"  that  last  one  has  just  primed  me  to  the  point  of  ask- 
ing ye  a  very  ignorant  question:  Not  namin'  any 
names  at  all,  what's  houldin'  you  back?  " 

The  blacksmith  leaned  forward  in  his  arm-chair, 
propped  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  regarded  the  man- 
ager fixedly. 

"  Denis,"  returned  the  manager  —  his  flush  may  have 
been  caused  either  by  the  unexpected  question  or  the 
rapidly  succeeding  toasts  — "  I  will  answer  your  query 
in  the  Irish  fashion,  by  putting  another  to  you :  What 
is  your  opinion  about  matrimony  ?  " 

"  Ye  might  say,  Mr.  Wildridge,"  returned  the  black- 
smith, after  cogitating,  "  that  I  never  had  any  particu- 
lar opinion  on  the  matter.  I  never  got  the  chance. 
The  wife  just  fastened  on  me  before  I  was  old  enough 
for  the  razor  to  take  a  grip  of  my  whiskers;  an'  I've 
been  in  a  kind  of  a  dazed  way  about  it  ever  since." 

"  Tell  me  now,  Denis,"  asked  the  manager  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  a  negative 
answer,  "  have  you  found  it  a  quiet,  peaceful  state  ?  " 

"As  long  as  the  wife  gets  her  own  way,"  said  the 
blacksmith  —  he  compressed  his  lips  and  nodded  slowly 
— "  yes." 

"  It's  an  answer  worthy  of  Delphos,"  said  the  man- 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       315 

ager.  "  But  suppose  I  wanted  my  own  way.  Suppose 
I  wanted  to  squat  myself  down  by  the  fire  of  a  winter's 
night  the  way  I  can  now,  and  do  a  little  work,  a  transla- 
tion from  Horace,  say.  And,  begad,"  cried  the  man- 
ager, rising  to  his  feet,  "  that  reminds  me :  I've  a  new 
one  to  read  you.  Wait  a  minute  till  I  get  it.  Listen 
now,  Denis,  I  think  this  isn't  too  bad : 

"  I  hate  these  parties  in  your  Sunday  Clothes, 
With  hair-oil,  and  a  posy  in  your  breast. 

Don't  waste  your  time  boy,  huntin'  for  a  rose; 
The  plain  old  country  way  is  still  the  best. 

"  And  do  not  fash  now,  makin'  me  a  show, 
The  duds  I've  on  are  good  enough  for  me. 

But  dammit,  yes,  we'll  shave  before  we  go; 
It's  decent-looking  when  you're  out  for  tea. 

"  You  see,  Denis :  nihil  allabores.  Good  Lord,"  he 
ejaculated  with  sudden  disgust,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  in  agitation,  "  there  I  go.  Wouldn't  I  be  a 
wicked  old  sinner  to  tie  any  young  girl  to  me,  and  leave 
her  sitting  at  the  fire  in  dullness  and  loneliness  while  I 
buried  myself  in  book-writing.  And  I'd  do  it,  Denis,  I 
know  I  would.  If  she  were  as  beautiful  as  the  morning, 
I'd  do  it.  I'd  be  beating  my  brains  for  a  translation 
for  placens  uxor,  and  reviling  her  under  my  breath  if 
she  interrupted  me  in  the  middle  of  it.  Look  at  me  just 
now.  A  chance  word  put  me  in  mind  of  Horace,  and 
in  a  moment  everything  else  went  out  of  my  head." 

"  Ach,  will  ye  hould  your  tongue,"  said  Denis,  who 
was  mellowing  as  the  manager's  whisky  reenforced  his 
previous  potations  in  Michael's.  "  You're  only  frettin' 
yourself  about  nothin'  at  all.  Sit  down  there  " —  he 
caught  the  manager  by  the  coat  — "  an'  pay  attention 
to  me.  That's  right.  Now  listen:  At  the  time  the 
wife  married  me  I  had  a  most  terrible  notion  of  playin' 
the  melodeon.  Clean  taken  up  with  it  I  was,  an' 


316        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

thought  a  deal  more  of  it  than  I  did  of  the  blacksmithin' 
—  aye,  or  the  marryin'.  And,  bedad,"  he  smiled  com- 
placently, "  I  was  the  boy  could  handle  it." 

"  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  you  reveal  new  facets 
of  your  character  to  me  every  day.  But  I  would  never 
have  suspected  you  of  possessing  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment." 

"  An'  what  might  that  be  now?  "  asked  Denis,  puzzled. 

"  The  artistic  temperament,  Denis,"  said  the  manager 
gravely,  "  might  be  defined  as  the  possession  of  a  taste 
for  working  at  anything  but  what  you  get  your  living 
by." 

"  Well,  no  matter  for  that,"  said  the  blacksmith. 
"  As  I  was  tellin'  you,  I  got  married.  An'  the  first 
twelve  months  I  would  sit  of  a  night  playin'  the  melo- 
deon,  an'  practisin'  wee  twiddley  bits  —  for,  mind  you, 
Mr.  Wildridge,  I  could  play  the  melodeon.  Well,  she 
was  that  proud  of  me  she'd  sit  all  night  on  the  far  side 
of  the  hearth,  eggin'  me  on  to  play  more  —  troth,  not 
that  I  needed  it." 

"  Yes,  Denis  ?  "  asked  the  manager ;  for  the  black- 
smith had  seemingly  come  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Well,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  that  went  on  for  a 
year." 

"  And  then  she  tired  of  it,"  said  the  manager. 

«  She  did  not,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  That's  where 
you're  entirely  wrong."  He  chuckled  in  fatuous  tri- 
umph. "  She  had  twins." 

"  Ha! "  said  the  manager,  and  puffed  out  a  train  of 
smoke  pensively. 

"  Now  ye  might  think  that  was  the  end  of  the  melo- 
deon," said  the  blacksmith.  "  Aye.  But  it  wasn't.  It 
was  just  the  other  way  round.  If  I  wanted  her  of  an 
evenin'  to  sit  down  for  a  crack  it  was  *  Wait  a  while, 
Denis,  till  the  childer  is  settled,'  or  *  Hold  on  till  I  get 
their  bits  of  clothes  washed.  Take  the  melodeon  there, 
it'll  keep  ye  from  thinkin'  long  till  I'm  done.'  But  she 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       317, 

was  never  done.  I  might  have  played  till  there  was 
corns  on  my  fingers  for  all  she  cared.  Do  you  hear  me 
now  ?  "  said  the  blacksmith,  shaking  his  head  with  in- 
tense seriousness ;  "  before  six  months  I  was  angry  at 
the  melodeon.  Now  maybe  you  think  I'm  bletherin'  full, 
an'  talkin'  nonsense ;  but  if  you  have  the  sense  to  take  it 
up  —  an'  as  far  as  I  can  see  you're  the  boy  has  his  head 
screwed  on  —  there's  a  kind  of  a  parable  in  all  I've 
been  tellin'  ye.  An'  you'd  be  better  off  than  I  was ;  for 
I  had  to  go  out  to  the  hen-house  many  a  night,  an'  your, 
writin'  makes  no  noise." 

"  Denis,"  said  the  manager,  "  the  sound  of  your  voice 
is  as  the  pouring  out  of  oil.  I  never  laid  out  a  drop  of 
whisky  to  better  advantage.  But  there's  just  one  other 
point  I'd  like  to  hear  you  about.  Your  wife  is  older 
than  you.  Doesn't  that  make  a  difference?  '* 

"  She  was  exactly  two  years  older  than  me  when  we 
were  married,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  ex-actly.  An' 
she's  that  still,  though  ye  daren't  say  it.  An'  that's 
where  ye  have  me  again.  Listen,  now,  Mr.  Wildridge. 
I'm  fifty-four,  yes,  fifty-four."  He  looked  with  a  seri- 
ous air  into  the  fireplace.  "  But  I've  young  notions," 
he  said,  brightening  up.  "  Do  you  think  if  she  was 
only  thirty-five  I'd  be  in  any  the  less  hurry  home  the 
night?  Mr.  Wildridge,"  he  said,  laying  a  huge  paw  on 
the  manager's  knee,  and  leaning  heavily  on  it,  "  I'm  not 
an  ignorant  man,  an'  I've  named  no  names  the  night; 
but  if  you  let  the  like  of  herself  slip  through  your  fingers 
—  the  back  of  my  hand  to  ye."  He  pushed  the  man- 
ager's knee  sharply  away,  and  subsided  into  the  arm- 
chair. "  An'  more,"  he  said,  sitting  up.  "  Ye  could 
have  her.  Ye  could.  I  know  somethin'  about  weemin ; 
not  as  much  as  I  know  about  horses,  but  still  a  good 
deal;  an'  ye  could  have  her  by  liftin'  your  wee  finger. 
An'  look  here,  again,"  he  said,  shaking  the  manager's 
hand  till  the  fingers  cracked,  "  I  wish  she  may  never  get 
vrorse.  Now,"  he  pushed  himself  to  his  feet,  "I'll  go 


318        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

home.     For  my  head  is  singin'  like  a  telegraph  wire." 

"  What  a  miserable,  self-torturing,  introspective, 
hesitating,  morbid  creature  you  are,  Anthony,"  said  the 
manager  to  himself,  coming  back  to  his  dining-room, 
"  confronted  with  the  robust  optimism  of  a  man  like 
Denis.  I  wonder  what  the  reason  of  it  is?  You  have 
more  brains  than  he  has,  and  a  great  deal  more  knowl- 
edge, and  you  don't  drink  whisky.  Begad,  I  know  what 
it  is ;  it's  want  of  exercise.  If  you  had  been  swinging  a 
sledge-hammer  every  day  this  last  month  you'd  have 
been  engaged  by  now.  Where  are  my  dumb-bells?  " 
He  unlocked  the  bottom  drawer  of  a  cupboard.  "  Come 
on;  you  used  to  be  able  to  put  them  up  fifty  times. 
Here's  a  test  of  youth  for  you."  For  a  few  moments 
there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  sound  of  heavy 
breathing.  "  Forty-eight,"  gasped  the  manager, 
"  forty-nine  —  fifty  —  stick  to  it,  Anthony !  fifty-one 
—  fifty-  " —  his  arms  trembled  as  he  painfully  heaved 
them  aloft  — "two  !"  The  right-hand  dumb-bell  slipped 
from  his  exhausted  grasp  and  smashed  the  whisky  de- 
canter to  atoms. 

"  I  don't  care  a  hang,"  said  the  manager  recklessly, 
"  it's  two  better  than  I  could  do  five  years  ago.  An- 
thony, my  son,  you're  as  young  as  ever  you  were;  and 
you  can  stand  up  before  the  whole  sentimental  earth  and 
acknowledge  that  for  the  first  time  in  your  selfish  and 
sophisticated  career  you're  in  love !  You  to  pot !  "  he 
cried,  picking  up  his  Horace  and  sending  it  spinning  to 
the  corner  of  the  room ;  "  you  were  making  me  old  be- 
fore my  time.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  cried,  bow- 
ing to  an  imaginary  audience  — "  I  give  you  with  en- 
thusiasm the  health  of  the  ancient  Germans !  " 

The  manager  dashed  his  glass  furiously  into  the  fen- 
der, and  went  upstairs  to  bed,  apparently  in  complete 
forgetfulness  of  the  second  stage  in  the  deliberations  of 
those  admirable  heathen. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

BUT  next  morning  it  might  have  been  noticed  that 
the  manager  did  not  as  usual  sing  in  his  bath; 
and  a  very  disconsolate  Anthony  Wildridge 
ascended  from  a  bathroom  to  his  bedroom. 

When  he  arrived  there  he  stood  still  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  raised  his  right  hand  slowly  above  his  head 
with  a  slight  groan,  then  raised  his  left  and  groaned 
again.  Then  he  went  over  and  sat  on  the  side  of  his 
bed,  looking  blankly  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  said  slowly,  "  rheumatism  —  rheu- 
matism; the  least  romantic  of  all  diseases,  the  unques- 
tionable warning  of  old  age.  Embrocation,  and  don't 
get  your  feet  wet,  and  flannel."  He  shuddered.  "  And 
you  know  what  you  quoted  to  Jackson  not  so  long  ago 
about  flannel.  But  that  was  jest,  Anthony,  my  boy; 
and  this  is  earnest.  And  last  night,  flown  with  insolence 
and  gooseberry,  in  the  company  of  that  old  son  of 
Belial,  Denis,  you  thought  you  were  as  young  as  ever 
you  were.  You  old  fool,  you  old  fool,"  he  uttered  with 
deliberate  bitterness.  He  went  over  to  the  look- 
ing-glass, and  contemplated  his  careworn  visage. 
"  Twenty-two  hairs  in  the  peninsula  now,  Anthony. 
That's  worrying  yourself  about  woolen  factories,  and 
blue  eyes."  The  manager  groaned  again,  dressed  him- 
self slowly,  and  descended  heavily  to  breakfast. 

The  first  thing  that  met  his  eyes  was  the  discarded 
Horace  lying  in  a  corner.  He  started  into  vigor  at 
once.  "  That  old  fool  Jane,"  he  cried  furiously,  and 
crossed  the  room  to  pick  the  book  up.  "  No,"  he  said, 
with  sudden  recollection,  turning  the  leaves  aimlessly, 

319 


320        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

"  that  old  fool  Anthony. —  But  where  did  I  put  my 
translations  ?  Ah,  there  they  are,  where  I  left  them  last 
night.  Yes,  Anthony;  suppose  the  blacksmith's  prog- 
nostications had  come  true,  and  you  had  had  time  and 
peace  to  scribble  last  night,  where  would  your  transla- 
tions be  now?  Half-past  eight  —  and  children,  you 
know,  rise  at  some  ungodly  hour.  By  this  time  '  Vides 
ut  alta  '  might  have  been  flying  at  the  tail  of  a  kite. 
You  would  face  that,  eh?  Yes  ;  and  she'd  be  well  worth 
it  and  more,  Anthony ;  you've  come  to  that  now,  my  boy. 
But  would  you  saddle  that  radiant  young  Artemis  with 
a  bald-headed  rheumatic  old  scribbler?  " 

The  manager  shook  his  head  in  answer  to  his  own 
question,  and  walking  over  to  the  window  stood  gloomily 
looking  out. 

As  he  stood,  there  appeared  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
street  Miss  Nora  Normanby  with  a  couple  of  terriers 
jumping  and  frisking  to  her  cracking  fingers.  Her 
former  careless  joyousness  had  returned  to  her.  But 
for  the  quaint  touch  of  dignity  lent  by  the  knotted  hair 
it  might  have  been  the  old  Nora,  the  terror  and  delight 
of  street  urchins,  who  danced  down  the  street  but  a  few 
weeks  before.  The  manager's  face  cleared  as  he  looked 
at  her  from  the  shelter  of  a  curtain.  When  she  came 
opposite  the  Bank  she  threw  a  sudden  swift  glance  at 
the  first-floor  windows.  The  manager  thought  she 
blushed;  and  perhaps  she  did.  But  at  least  a  certain 
demure  seriousness  fell  on  her,  and  she  passed  out  of 
sight  walking  soberly  as  if  in  thought. 

"  Anthony,"  said  the  manager  with  quiet  determina- 
tion, "  maybe  you're  deceiving  yourself  all  this  time, 
maybe  she  doesn't  want  you  at  all,  doesn't  even  think  a 
man  of  your  age  could  be  a  possible  lover.  Maybe  even 
if  she  does  you're  too  old,  and  it's  wicked  of  you  to  ask 
her.  But  young  or  old,  rheumatism  or  no  rheumatism, 
you're  going  to  risk  it. 

"  Jane,  Jane.     Hurry  up,  quick !  "  he  shouted  to  his 


MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK       321 

astonished  housekeeper.  He  hastily  ate  a  slice  of  toast, 
gulped  down  some  coffee,  ran  upstairs  and  brushed  his 
teeth  for  the  second  time  that  morning,  dashed  down 
again,  picked  up  an  old  hat,  substituted  a  new  one  for 
it,  and  went  out  with  a  bang  of  the  hall  door  that 
brought  Jane  to  the  office  window  to  look  after  him. 

As  he  emerged  on  the  beach  he  saw  Nora  standing  at 
the  water's  edge  gazing  seaward. 

"  Hallo,  Nora,"  he  said,  coming  up  behind  her. 

'*  Hallo,"  said  Nora.  Her  greeting  showed  no  sur- 
prise. 

They  stood  side  by  side  for  a  moment  without  speak- 
ing. A  fresh  breeze  blew  inshore ;  and  as  Nora  swayed 
against  it  she  slipped  a  hand  into  the  manager's  arm. 
The  wind  had  risen  with  the  dawning.  Far  out,  the  sea 
heaved  in  great  crestless  billows  of  dull  gray,  streaked 
with  lines  of  white  bubbles  ;  but  close  to  the  beach  it  rose 
in  long  waves  that  curled  slowly  upward,  hesitated  a 
moment,  suddenly  translucent  in  the  morning  sun,  then 
foamed  and  tumbled  along  the  sand  with  a  tumultuous 
soft  crash,  and  scattered  diamonds  broadcast. 

Still  not  a  word  was  spoken;  but  the  manager  was 
conscious  that  Nora  had  drawn  a  little  closer  to  him. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  at  last  softly,  "  I'm  glad  you  love  the 
sea." 

"  Nora,"  said  the  manager,  "  if  a  foolish  old  fellow  of 
thirty-eight,  with  a  bald  head,  and  rheumatism  in  his 
shoulders  —  it  is  my  painful  duty  in  the  present  state 
of  my  conscience  to  admit  to  both  shoulders  —  asked 
you  a  certain  question,  what  do  you  think  you'd  answer 
him?" 

"  I  don't  think  you're  old,"  said  Nora. 

Her  arm  slipped  a  little  farther  into  the  manager's, 
and  her  fingers,  perhaps  by  accident,  fell  lightly  on  his. 
A  swift  tingling,  that  was  not  rheumatism,  coursed 
through  the  manager's  veins;  and  yet  in  that  supreme 


322        MR.  WILDRIDGE  OF  THE  BANK 

instant  he  recognized  with  half-comic  despair  a  fleeting 
pang  for  Horace  and  his  vanishing  liberty. 

"  Too  old  and  too  selfish  for  you,  Nora  girl,"  he  said, 
a  little  sadly. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  night  in  the  Town  Hall," 
half  whispered  Nora,  "  and  something  I  told  you?  " 

The  manager  pressed  her  hand  gently. 

'*  You  were  going  to  all  the  same,  weren't  you  ?  "  she 
breathed.—"  And  I'd  —  I'd  have  let  you." 

Silence  followed.  In  that  first  moment  of  confessed 
tenderness  a  miraculous  shy  humility  fell  upon  the 
manager.  He  drew  the  girl  towards  him  almost  timidly. 

And  with  the  intuitive  realization  of  the  power  of  her 
sex  a  gleam  of  the  old  impish  gaiety  danced  in  Nora's 
eyes.  She  slipped  deftly  from  the  manager's  arm,  and 
in  a  flash  was  a  dozen  yards  away.  Her  soft  laughter 
sounded  on  his  ears  with  a  tantalizing  sweetness. 

"  Oh,  you  silly,"  she  mocked,  "  you  silly.  And  now 
you're  too  old,  and  have  got  rheumatism." 

On  the  instant  a  blinding  revelation  was  vouchsafed 
the  manager. 

"  Nora,"  he  cried  exultingly,  "  I'm  an  idiot.  It  was 
the  dumb-bells.  It  was  the  dumb-bells;  and  I've  not 
got  rheumatism  at  all.  Run,  big  sweetheart,  run ! 
Thirty  yards  start,  and  first  to  the  bracken.  It's  on 
my  conscience  to  give  you  a  last  fling  for  your  freedom." 

"  Oh,  cheat,  cheat,"  called  Nora  reproachfully  as  she 
ran.  "  I've  not  had  half  my  law." 

And  indeed,  yards  before  Miss  Normanby  had  re- 
ceived the  start  allotted  her,  the  manager  was  loping  in 
pursuit  with  the  long  steady  stride  of  the  practised  run- 
ner ;  reckless  of  the  aching  muscles  of  the  morrow ;  sub- 
consciously certain  that  he  ought  to  lose  the  race;  but 
desperately  determined  on  winning. 

THE    END 


A     000  032  848     4 


